


Kingdom of Wolves

by amkatpet



Series: The Fates [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Historical References, Norse culture, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Revenge, Romance, Shieldmaidens, Vikings, Volvas, War, Women Being Awesome, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amkatpet/pseuds/amkatpet
Summary: Ghosts from Erlendur's past are haunting his dreams. A bloodthirsty king is intent on becoming a conqueror. Confronted with dark pasts and uncertain futures, Erlendur and Brynja must struggle with fate, faith, and love if they are to survive. Sequel to "The Fate the Gods Wove Us".





	1. The Opportunity

“No! Father…I’m sorry”.

Erlendur is talking in his sleep again. He is usually quiet when he sleeps, talking and moaning only when he’s having a nightmare. They’ve rarely happened in the six years we’ve been married, yet these last few weeks they’ve been a frequent interruption to our nights.

“Erlendur!” I whisper. “Wake up”.

“No,” he mutters, still asleep. “I didn’t forget!”

Cautiously, I place my hand on his shoulder and gently shake him. “Erlendur!”

My husband jerks against my touch. His eyes fly open.

“Brynja?”

“You were having a nightmare again”.

Erlendur sighs and sits up. I can barely make out his features in our dark room.

“I don’t understand. I keep dreaming about them”.

“Your family?”

“Yes. My father appears to me. He is angry. He says I’ve forgotten about them. That I’ll never avenge them…” He breaks off. The emotion in his voice is barely contained.

I reach over and lay my hand on his. My heart aches for him. I will never be able to comprehend the grief and guilt he carries; I can only sympathize. Sometimes, I see it in his eyes—a sad, faraway look. I see it most when he’s playing with our children, what should be a happy family moment. I know he’s thinking about his lost parents and siblings.

A small cry interrupts us. It comes from the cradle near our bed.

“I’ve got him” Erlendur mutters. He picks up our youngest child, Geir, and brings him back to the bed. He holds the baby out to me.

“I think he’s hungry”.

I take our youngest son and place him to my breast. Every time I do so, I feel a sense of relief. Geir was born two months before, at the end of a long winter. Ari’s birth had been difficult only in the sense that I was unprepared. Unna’s birth was quick and simple by comparison. But Geir’s—I had expected another simple birth, but instead I’d struggled. My labor lasted for two agonizing days before he finally came into the world at dawn.

He was tiny, dark, shriveled. He did not cry when he appeared, and I feared I’d labored only to have a stillbirth. But then our servant woman Asgerd breathed into his little mouth and he began to cry.

It was miraculous we both survived the ordeal. I had been fearful over the next few weeks that we would lose him, or that he would be too weak to survive and we’d be forced to leave him to the elements. But two have passed since then and he has survived. He is healthy, and I am grateful to the Gods.

We all have much to be grateful for. My two other children, Ari and Unna, are five and three and they are healthy, happy children. Despite this past brutal winter, we’ve survived. The herds have increased with a prosperous lambing and our fields are being prepared for the next harvest.

In the neighboring village, successful raids and merchant trips have brought more wealth and prosperity. The village has grown in the past few years. We are no longer an isolated farming village, but are growing into a small trading center. Merchants are coming from Birka in Sweden and Ribe in Denmark, even city of Holmgard in the east.

Sindri, the wealthiest merchant in the village, and the husband of my friend Halla, should be especially grateful. In addition to his success trading, he and Halla have had two more children. Hild is their third child and first daughter. They have a fourth child as well, a son named Sven, who is a few months old.

My eldest sister Gudrun is expecting her own third child as well. She is due in just a few weeks time. Her two children with her first husband are already twelve and nine. It is hard to believe they’ve grown so much.

My thoughts are interrupted as Geir finishes nursing and burps contentedly. A bit of milk dribbles down his chin. I wipe it away and rock him until he falls asleep.

I return Geir to his cradle and notice Erlendur has also fallen back asleep. I crawl into the bed and snuggle next to him. Geir will awaken again in a little while. I need to sleep while I can.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

One morning a few days later, I am spinning thread in the front yard, enjoying the sun. Geir lies asleep in his cradle next to me. The fresh air will be good for him.

My sister Jorunn comes around the corner from the weaving huts. Her face is flushed.

“What were you up to?” I ask, though I already suspect.

“Nothing” she quickly responds.

“Mm-hmm”. I focus on my work. “Erik isn’t ‘nothing’" I say, meaning one of our farm hands.

Jorunn’s face becomes as red as her hair. “How did you know?”

“I first saw you eyeing each other at Yule three years ago. I know you’ve been seeing him secretly”.

“Have you told anyone?” she sounds panicked.

I turn to her and smile. “I haven’t told anyone. And I’m not upset with you. It would be very hypocritical of me since I fell in love with a farmhand, too”.

Jorunn sighs with relief. “It’s just…I know how people still see me. I made one mistake, and…” Tears form in her eyes.

I step forward and place my hands on her shoulders. “Jorunn, we all make mistakes. Hakon took advantage of you. Let people say what they want. As long as you’re happy”.

She wipes her eyes. “I am happy with him. I know we shouldn’t sneak around, but we want to be together. He’s been working hard. He asked me to see if you would talk to Erlendur; he wants to go on the next raid”.

“What for?”

“What else for? He wants to gain some treasure so he can pay Father a bride-price. He said he wants to marry me, once he can afford it”.

Erik is the son of a farmer, the youngest of six children. He had little to expect in the way of an inheritance, so he’d come to our farm several years ago to work for us. He’d hoped to gain enough for a farm of his own one day. It only makes sense that he’d want a wife as well.

“He’s three years younger than you, is he not? Does that bother you at all?”

“Erlendur is six years older than you. Does that bother you?”

I laugh. “No, of course not. Forget I asked”.

Jorunn shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “So, will you?”

I frown. “Will I what?”

“Talk to Erlendur. About Erik joining the next raid?”

“Why doesn’t Erik talk to Erlendur himself?”

Jorunn hesitates, wringing her hands. “Because…he’s afraid of him”.

I am surprised. “He—Erik—is afraid of Erlendur?” I repeat.

“Well, not afraid, exactly. Intimidated. Erlendur is experienced with raiding and Erik thinks Erlendur wouldn’t want him along because he doesn’t have any fighting experience himself”.

I shake my head. “Erlendur didn’t object to Freydis when she had no experience. I don’t see why he’d object to Erik. As long as Father agrees we can spare a set of hands this summer, I don’t see why it would be a problem. And it would give Erik a chance to prove himself, not as a warrior, but as a son-in-law”.

Jorunn smiles. “Thank you, Brynja. I’ll tell him. Perhaps he could ask Freydis is she’d help him practice in his free time. She would understand, right?”

I nod. “I’m sure she would. Perhaps more than anyone”.

Jorunn beams and runs back the way she came. A few years ago, I might have chastised Jorunn for being reckless. But she is no longer a naïve girl; she is already twenty-two, an age when many girls have already been married, maybe even twice, and have likely had a few children. Yet she is still unwed.

I know she is ashamed of it. I had just turned eighteen when I met Erlendur and I married him at nineteen. I was a few weeks shy of twenty when I gave birth to Ari. I had known the fear of growing past my prime unmarried and alone.

Years ago, Jorunn was naïve and proud enough to think she’d done something worthwhile by giving her virginity to Hakon. Now, she was convinced she’d been tainted by him. Somehow, rumors had spread about her, that she wasn’t innocent. Men didn’t want to marry a girl who’d lain with other men prior to her marriage. They wanted to be certain she wouldn’t be with other men while they were gone, that any child she bore was theirs.

But Erik, it seemed, looked past all that and saw Jorunn as she was. He made her happy.

The rumbling sound of horse hooves gets my attention. A group of riders are coming towards the front gate. I try to count them, but they are moving too quickly. I guess there to be around twenty riders, perhaps more. Metal flashes off of weapons and helmets, but they do not seem to be moving as if to attack.

Erlendur had taken the children fishing at the lake this morning. I hope he returns quickly, should these men be trouble.

The riders stop outside the closed gate. One of the farmhands comes over to me. “Should we let them in?”

“Let’s see what they want first” I say. I leave Geir in the care of one of the slave girls and make my way to the gate. These men look well off; I want to give off a good impression as the woman of the hall, so I smooth out my shawl and straighten my shoulders. I am too aware of my simple blue dress and white apron. I have a patterned shawl draped over my shoulders against the cool spring morning. My only jewelry is my wedding ring and the beaded necklace Erlendur gave me long ago. My hair is fastened back in a loose braid. Overall, my outfit displays the look of a simple farm wife, though not one expected from a farm of this size and wealth.

It is obvious the men think that as well. The man in front looks down on me from his horse. “Woman, fetch your master and tell him my men and I require hospitality”.

These men take me for a servant! “Who might you be” I ask, “to order me around?”

“Where I am from a woman obeys a man” the man replies.

Two farmhands accompany me to the gate. One of them starts forward, but I hold out my arm to stop him.

I speak calmly, despite being insulted. “I’ll ask you again, sir. Who are you?”

The man ignores me this time and looks to one of the farm hands. “Tell your master King Harald of the Vestfold, future king of all of Norway, is at his front gate and demands hospitality”.

_King_ Harald? This man does look like a king. He wears a vibrant red tunic, embroidered in gold thread. A sword, its hilt trimmed with gold, is at his waist. A fine wool cloak lined with fur flows from his shoulders. I guess him to be in his forties; he has a handsome face, though covered in tattoos, and a well-tended beard. The only thing about him that does not look kingly is his hair; it is wild and tangled. It falls all the way down his back, nearly touching the saddle where he sits. Something about him is familiar, though I cannot tell what.

“My apologies, King Harald. My name is Brynja Arnorsdottir. This is my husband’s farm”.

King Harald looks past me to survey the farm. I stand with the farmhands in an awkward silence as he does. He looks back to me and smiles in a charming manner.

“Allow me to apologize. Of course, a woman of your beauty could only be the mistress of this place. Please accept my apology for mistaking you as a servant”. His voice has changed from arrogant and demanding to charming.

I am not entirely convinced of his sincerity, but I cannot leave twenty armed men at the front gate. “There is no need to apologize. Please, come inside with your men. You must be hungry”.

I gesture for the gate to be opened. Harald and his men bring their horses inside and crowd the yard. The many hooves stir up dust.

“Please come into the hall. I will have the servants tend you”.

Horses are led towards the stables while I take Harald and his men into the hall. I pull one of the farmhands close to me. “My husband is by the lake. Fetch him immediately” I whisper. He nods and hurries away.

“Where did you send that man?” Harald asks. Dismounted from his horse, I can see he is a tall man, a full head taller than me and broad in the chest and back.

“I simply told him to return to his chores. It is springtime. There is much to do”.

Harald does not look convinced and I hope he does not question my lie. I cannot tell whether this man is trustworthy or not, but I have promised him hospitality.

Another man appears at Harald’s side. He is slightly shorter, but the similarity in their faces suggests they are related. He wears an embroidered tunic in a shade of light blue. His hair is cut short, with longer strands falling over one half of his face. He also sports a short beard and the facial tattoos.

“This is my brother and second-in-command, Halfdan”. Harald says.

I nod in greeting, but Halfdan only stares. I feel uneasy. It is then I realize who Harald reminds me of: Hakon. I shiver, wrapping my shawl around me. I hope it is only the facial tattoos that are similar and not the personality. Though he’s been dead for years, slain in a duel by Erlendur, I will never be able to forget the atrocities he—and his conniving half-sister Ylva—committed against me and my family.

Inside the hall, I instruct the servants to bring out some fresh ale and warm bread with honey. The men consume the food and drink greedily.

“I will be sure to have a feast prepared tonight for your arrival, King Harald” I say. I am sitting at the main table by the hearth, with the king and his brother. “It is not every day we have royalty under our roof”. I smile at my words; we do, technically, have royalty under our roof every day. After all, my husband is a prince, born the son of a Danish king.

“Your hospitality is appreciated” Harald says, gulping down the ale. "My men and I have had a long trip and longer still. We don’t plan---“

He is cut off as the hall door bursts open. Erlendur is standing in the doorway. His brow is furrowed with anger; his jaw set firmly. An uncomfortable silence follows him as he makes his way down the hall to our table. By the time he reaches it, the hall is still.

“Harald” he says. He does not take his eyes off the men next to me. “Halfdan. You don’t recognize me, do you?”

It is clear from their faces they don’t. I do not understand, either, how Erlendur knows this king.

“Come now, we even burned Christians together in Frankia” Erlendur is saying. “Have you forgotten?”

Harald sets his goblet down with a clank. “Erlendur? I remember now! That was years ago” he laughs. “We all assumed you were dead”.

Erlendur grins in response. The mood of the hall quickly brightens as the tension eases. “How did that raid go, anyway? I left halfway through it”. He comes to sit next to me.

Harald grimaces. “Badly. Sometime after you left we made our way towards Paris and fought the Franks. Rollo betrayed us. We lost terribly”.

Halfdan speaks for the first time. “And Ragnar was so ashamed, he abandoned his people and vanished. He has only just reappeared in Kattegat recently”.

I notice Erlendur’s face harden at the words. Under the table, I place my hand on his knee. “He abandoned his people _for years_?”

“You left” Harald points out.

“Because I had nothing left!” Erlendur snaps. “I had no loyalty sworn to any man. Ragnar Lothbrok had the loyalty of all his people and he betrayed them! He does not deserve to be king.”

I quickly pour Erlendur an ale and offer it to him. I hope it will ease his anger. I know how deep his hatred of Ragnar Lothbrok and his family goes.

Harald empties his own cup. “I agree. But my focus lies on a different kingdom now”.

“Which is?” Erlendr asks.

Harald grins. “My own. Thank you”. This last part he says to me as I refill his drink myself. “Is this lovely woman your wife?”

“Brynja, yes. I see you’ve met”. Erlendur puts his arm around my shoulders.

“He arrived at the gate and requested hospitality. I couldn’t turn him away” I tell him.

“And I’m grateful she didn’t” Harald says. “I apologize again if I insulted you”.

“Insulted you?” Erlendur repeats.

“I foolishly mistook her for a servant woman at first. I am sorry”.

“There is no need to apologize anymore” I say quickly. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake. I’ve accepted your apology”.

“So, why are you here, Harald?” Erlendur asks bluntly.

“I’m gathering my men and heading for my ships. They’re docked southwest of here. We’re headed to Kattegat”.

Erlendur sneers. “What for?”

“Because Bjorn is leading a raid south. He’s convinced of some sea beyond Frankia and he wants to go there. I’m taking some men to raid with him. I’ll be needing all the treasure I can get if I’m to be king of all Norway”.

“King of all Norway?” I interrupt. Erlendur has spent years trying to get away from Ragnar Lothrok and his family. Even here he cannot escape them. I can tell this conversation has infuriated him. “There are many kings in Norway. Do you intend to conqueror them all?”

“That I do. And I’ve taken a vow to not cut my hair until it’s done”.

“This raid you are going on”, Erlendur cuts in. “Will Ragnar be on it?”

Harald shakes his head. “When Ragnar returned to Kattegat, he was not well received. Even his own sons didn’t welcome him”.

Haldan speaks again. I suspect he is even quieter than Erlendur normally is, so to hear his voice is jarring. “Ragnar is said to be trying to form a raid west, to Wessex. Something about a lost settlement and revenge against their king”.

“Revenge he should have taken a long time ago” Erlendur says quietly. His mind is getting far away. He is getting that look in his eye, when he’s gone deep into thought.

“What about you, Erlendur?” Would you care to join us?”

The far-away look vanishes from his eyes. “Forgive me, but no. I cannot. There are many other things I have to do. You and your men are welcome to stay as long as you need. We’ll be happy to provide you with provisions. I only ask one thing”.

“And what is that?”

“That when you are on your raid, you mention me to no one. There’s no reason anyone in Kattegat—anyone in Denmark for that matter-to know I’m here”.

“Hiding, are you?” Harald asks, then he laughs. “Alright. None of us will speak of you. You have my word”.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

That night, as we ready ourselves for bed, I notice Erlendur seems unusually nervous. He is often able to mask his emotions.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing”.

I crawl under the warm furs. “Erlendur, today men from your past arrived on our farm. They talked at about people you knew, people you hate. I know it bothers you”.

Erlendur sighs and pulls his shirt off. Even after our years together, I still get a thrill of looking at him. I watch the light from the hearth dance against the muscles in his torso.

He sits next to me. “I’m…conflicted. I’ve wanted revenge for years, and I’ve never taken the chance. And the dreams I’ve been having…”

“Perhaps the Gods have given you a sign. This may be your chance”.

“I don’t know. It’s been a long day, I don’t even want to think about it anymore”.

I kiss his neck. “Perhaps I should distract you”.

He grins. “I would like that. But Geir—“

“Is asleep. We have time before he wakes again”.

I move to kiss him again, but he stops me. “Are you sure?”

“That I want to make love to you? Yes”.

That gets a laugh out of him. “I mean, are you sure it’s a sign from the Gods?”

“Who can say for sure? I’m not a volva; I cannot see the future. But I believe you need to do what you feel is right. And I believe in you”.

“And you have no problem supporting me to kill a man who’s nothing to you?”

  “He hurt you when he killed off your family. You are my husband. Your enemies are my enemies”.

“I love you”. Erlendur says.

“I love you, too” I gently push him down onto the furs and lean forward to kiss him. “So, are you going to do it?”

“I’m going to make love to you first. Then I’ll do it”. He grins, an eager look in his eye. “I’m finally going to get my revenge on Ragnar Lothbrok”.


	2. An Unexpected Declaration

Harald and Halfdan leave as quickly as they came. I am not sure what to make of this king. He sounded so confident, it is believable that men would be inspired to follow him. But Norway has been divided into many kingdoms for centuries. Is it truly possible for him to unite them all? 

But there is no time to ponder the ambitions of kings. I have three children to care for and a farm to manage.Soon, the raiders will leave and it is important to have as much of the spring work done now, while there are still hands to help. 

The children and I accompany Erlendur into the village to say goodbye. He takes his turn with each our children. While he is cuddling Geir to his chest, I notice Jorunn speaking with Erik. He’s a handsome young man with reddish-gold tousled hair and skin tanned from the sun. They are both careful to hide their affections in public, but the adoring look in his eyes is impossible to miss. 

“Papa, will you bring us presents?” Unna asks as she hugs him. 

Erlendur laughs. “We’ll see, princess. Be good and help your mother. Both of you” he adds to Ari, hugging him next. 

At three years old, Unna is already trying to look grown up. “We will, Papa”. 

“Yes, Papa”. Ari adds, letting Erlendur ruffle his blond curls. 

“And you” Erlendur says, coming over to me, “I’m going to miss you”. 

“I’m sure” I say with a smile. “I’ll miss you too”. 

He kisses me goodbye and we ignore the gasps and protests of our two eldest children. It is a long time before he pulls away, but I don’t mind. 

I stand on the dock with my children and watch the men board the ship. There is always a mix of excitement and fear anytime a raiding ship leaves or enters the harbor. The anticipation of what will happen on the raid, what they bring back with them, and the fear of not knowing if they’ll be seen again all hover in the air like mist. It is a part of being a raider’s wife. 

I hear heavy footsteps on the dock and see my sister Gudrun behind me. 

“I feel a bit guilty that my husband never goes on the raids” she pants as she comes to stand with me. She is heavily pregnant with her third child, the first she’ll have with her husband Ukkr. Her belly stretches out before her, and I notice some swelling in her fingers. Beyond this, she looks well, I am relieved to see. 

“Ukkr is too old to go on a raid” I say matter-of-factly. I do not say this to be insulting, but Ukkr is older than our father. I cannot deny I have always been somewhat uncomfortable with her marriage to him. It has always felt strange. 

“I know,” Gudrun responds to me. “And that’s why I never have to worry about it”. 

I would worry if I were her. Ukkr is old; only the Gods know how many more years he’ll have. I immediately admonish myself for this thought. Ukkr has always been kind to my sister and our family; it is wrong of me to be critical of him for his age. 

Unna suddenly squeals and grabs my dress. “Oh, Aunt Gudrun, you’ve wet yourself. You’re too big for that!” 

I start to scold Unna, but Gudrun only laughs. “Oh, dear, it would seem so”. 

I look down and see a puddle forming at our feet. “I’m not the midwife you are, but I think you’re going into labor”. 

Gudrun nods, rather calmly. “I knew I was close”. 

I am shocked at how relaxed Gudrun is. Though this is her third childbirth, and she’s helped many of the women in and around the village with their own, including myself when Ari was born. Now it is my turn to help. 

I spot Halla in front of her home, with her three-year-old daughter Hild, as we make our way back to Gudrun’s house. “My sister is in labor” I tell her. 

I need to say nothing else. Halla nods her understanding. “I’ll get some linens and be right over”. 

She looks to my children. “Would you like them to stay here? The servants came watch them”. I agree and the children need no encouragement. Halla’s children and mine are all close in age; Ari and her eldest son, Ingimund, are best friends. 

We reach Gudrun’s home and start the preparations for childbirth: unlocking doors and undoing any ties or knots, heating water, and preparing linens and herbs. 

Gudrun is wincing as her contractions are coming. This will not be a long labor. 

Gudrun breathes through her contractions and paces around the one-room house. I stand over the fire and stir the flames to life. 

“We don’t need that. It’s the beginning of summer”. Gudrun waves her hand at the smoke. 

I am about to respond when she doubles over in pain. I hurry over to her. 

“I’m fine,” she says, forcing herself upright. “I’ll be...fine”. 

I worry at my lip. Having been through childbirth three times, I know how dangerous it is. Our own mother died at Jorunn’s birth. 

The door to the house bursts open and Halla, Jorunn, and Ukkr all rush in. The house is hot and crowded now with five adults in the small space. 

“I came as soon as I heard” Ukkr moves to stand at Gudrun’s side. I’d like to ask him to leave, since there’s little room in the house, but a man is expected to be at the birth of his child. 

I bite at the inside of my lip. Ukkr has two sons from his first marriage, both adults. And he is already a grandfather several times over. It seems ludicrous that he has fathered another child. 

Gudrun’s contractions lengthen and come faster as her labor progresses. It was mid-morning when her labor started. By mid-afternoon, she gives a final push and her third child comes into the world. 

Halla catches the baby as it slips between Gudrun’s legs. The infant’s cries fill the house. 

Halla wraps clean linen around the baby and holds it up. “It’s a boy”. 

The boy is large and his cries are lusty. He’s a strong, healthy child. His hair is dark and his features are reminiscent of his elder half-brothers. 

Gudrun takes her son and coos over him. I excuse myself and slip outside, letting the parents admire their child. 

It’s a warm day for early summer and I wish we hadn’t had the hearth fire after all. I wipe some sweat from my brow and head for Halla’s house to check on my own children. 

“Brynja!” Halla is following me. I wait for her to catch up. 

“I was on my way to your house”. 

“Of course. And you and the children are welcome to spend the night. I’m sure you’ll want to be close to your sister now”. 

“She’s fine. And the baby is fine”. There is a bitterness in my voice I can’t disguise. 

“Brynja”. Halla places her hand on my arm and stops me. “Something is wrong”. 

“I…it’s nothing. Just a foolish thought”. I try to walk away. 

Halla grabs my arm. “Tell me” she says gently. 

“Swear you will never repeat this, but…I don’t like that my sister ever married Ukkr. And I especially don’t like that she’s had a child with him!” 

Halla’s voice is gentle, with no repercussion. “Why does it bother you?” 

“I don’t know! But I’ve never liked the idea, ever since she announced she accepted his proposal. I know it is not uncommon for a woman to marry an older man, Erlendur is older than I, Sindri is a decade older than you, and yet…” I must pause for a breath.

“He is old enough to be our father, his eldest son is older than Gudrun, he’d been a grandfather for nearly a decade already before they married. I know it is terrible of me to say so, but the entire relationship has made me uncomfortable. I’ve never said anything all these years because my sister seemed well-treated, but I feel she only ever accepted him because she felt she needed a new husband and her children a father. But Ukkr has been so good to her that I feel guilty for having these thoughts at all!” 

Halla is quiet during my rant. Now that I’ve confessed everything to my friend, I feel both relieved and ashamed. 

“I’ll be honest with you: I agree. I found it an odd match. But it is already done and Gudrun seems content enough. Can you be content knowing she is?” 

I nod, accepting Halla’s wise words. “Erlendur once told me he thought we were fated to be together. Perhaps…as difficult as it is for me to believe, perhaps Gudrun and Ukkr are too”. 

Halla nods. “Perhaps. It is a cute baby. So big, though! I thought my Ingimund was large for a newborn! At least it wasn’t her first”. 

I laugh a little. “He is adorable” I agree. “He looks more like his brothers than his parents, though”. 

Halla shrugs. “They are half-brothers. My boys all look similar. And we know infants change so quickly. I remember seeing Ari! His hair was so dark. Now, he’s as blond as his father”. 

I smile. “He looks more like Erlendur every day. He is a miniature of him”.   
We head into Halla’s house, still discussing our children, and I put the thoughts of Gudrun and Ukkr from my mind.   
……………………………………………………………………………………………………  
Jorunn, the children, and I stay in the village for a few days to help Gudrun. She is experienced in caring for a child, but that doesn’t make the job of caring for a newborn any less demanding. 

A few days after the baby’s birth, Ukkr sprinkles him with water and gives him the name Egil and we welcome the newest member of our family. 

That afternoon, I am in the dairy shed, making skyr. It occurs to me as I work how lucky I am to have plenty of servants and slaves on the farm to work for us. In the village, Gudrun is still expected to do all the work of a wife and mother with far less of the help. 

A voice distracts me. “Hello, Brynja”. 

I recognize the voice behind me and look over my shoulder. “Hello, Gorm”. 

Gorm is the elder brother of Halla and Freydis and the main blacksmith of the village. 

“It seems a long time since we’ve last seen each other”. Gorm comes to stand next to where I’m working. 

“It has. Did you come to meet your new cousin?” 

“I saw him. Though he’s not the reason I’m here”. 

I turn to look at him. “And why are— “. 

Without warning, I am cut off as his hands are at my waist, pulling me to him. His mouth crashes against mine. 

For a moment, I am too stunned to react. Then, his tongue thrusts past my lips and his hands slip up my side to grope my breasts. His body is hard, his hands are rough and callused. 

Erlendur knows when I want him to be rough and when I want him to be gentle. Over the years, we’ve learned how to please each other. But Gorm, I can tell, is focused entirely on his own pleasures. 

The fog in my mind clears. Disgusted, I free one arm and slap my hand against his head. I manage to pull my mouth from his, and wriggle free from him entirely. I instinctively take several steps back, out of his reach. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I can still taste him. 

Gorm’s voice is pleading. “Brynja, please, I am a desperate man. My marriage has fallen apart. I need the love of a good woman. And I have always loved you”. 

I am too angry to be moved by his words. “I am already married. I’m sorry your marriage is not working out. I know the troubles you and Sigunn have faced. I am sorry. But I will not betray my husband or ruin my honor”. 

“Always the good girl”. Gorm snarls, his voice changing from pleading to malicious in an instant. For the first time in my life, I am afraid of him. 

To my relief, he straightens up and smoothes out his clothes and hair. “It doesn’t matter” he says. “There are plenty of other women in the village with looser morals than you. Your sister, perhaps”. 

This is said to goad me, I know it, but I refuse to stand by and have my sister be insulted. Especially by the man I had thought of as a friend and brother. 

I lunge at him, furious. I reach out to strike him with my nails. “Take it back!” 

Gorm catches my arm and pulls me to him again. He holds me tightly to his chest. I cannot get away this time. 

“Take what back?” he purrs. 

I have a moment of panic as I recall a time many years ago when I was assaulted in the woods. Hakon had ambushed me and attempted to rape me. I recall even now how he’d groped my breasts, the weight of his hips as he’d pressed against me from behind, so close to penetrating me. I can only hope Gorm is above such barbaric actions. 

I can feel his warm breath against my cheek. I squirm in his arms, unable to strike him since he’s gotten ahold of me again. I brace myself as he kisses me a second time. I keep my mouth firmly closed and grimace as his beard scratches against my face. 

“I’ve always loved you. You were always so beautiful, so pure and good”. 

I manage to lean away from his mouth. “You’ve never said any of these things before. Why now? We’ve both been married to other people for years. I have children…” 

The moment those words leave my lips, Gorm stiffens and roughly shoves me away. I fall to the floor and scramble to get back on my feet. 

“Yes, children”. His voice has gone back to the snarl. “One of the many things Sigunn could never give me”. 

His voice and eyes soften. “Brynja, I’ve loved you for a long time. Years ago, I asked you to marry me. You remember? But you said no—that I was like a brother to you. Day and night, I suffered over you, every time I saw you walk through the village with my sisters I lusted for you. You never once noticed”. 

I am stunned, by both his words and his actions. “You never once told me! Never, Gorm, have you ever given any indication that you have feelings for me!” 

“I know. I only agreed to marry Sigunn after you’d rejected me. Because I though being with another woman would help me to get over my feelings for you. Every time I lay with her, I imagined it was you. Did you ever know the agony it was for me to watch you marry that foreigner? To hear the news of you bearing his half-Dane children?” 

Quarter Dane, I think. Erlendur himself is only half-Danish, his mother was from Gotaland. 

Gorm continues. “I plan to divorce Sigunn. We’ve been married for years and all she’s given me is a miscarriage and false hopes. Gods know I should have done it years ago. And when I do, Brynja, I am asking you to come to me. Leave your husband. Let me prove I love you”. 

“No! Have you gone mad?” I cry. I am disgusted and horrified. How could he ever think I would leave my husband, the father of my children? 

“Gorm, if you wanted a chance with me, you should have taken t a long time ago. Before Erlendur and I were ever together. It is too late for you now. I have a husband and I love him. I am sorry for the state of your marriage. Divorce Sigunn if you want. But I will not be replacing her”. 

With that said, I straighten my shoulders and hurriedly walk away. I nervously glance over my shoulder a few times to see if he is following me.


	3. Revenge

I take the children and hurry home, with only the briefest apologies to Gudrun. I refuse to speak of what happened. My only focus is to get as far from the village, and Gorm, as I can.   
The weeks drag by. I am anxious for news of Erlendur, but I cannot bring myself to go to the docks. I send a servant instead, yet day after day, they return with nothing.   
I wrestle with whether to tell Erlendur about my encounter with Gorm. A husband and wife should not keep secrets from each other. And only the Gods know what Gorm might say. What if he claims I tried to seduce him? He was angry at my refusal, I know. Would he depict me as the harlot for revenge? 

I tell myself that it would do no good even if he did. I have a good reputation in the village, I think. But then, people had no trouble believing of Jorunn, and even years later it haunts her. They might be willing to believe in lies and gossip. 

I try to force it to the back of my mind and distract myself with my work. Summer means harvest time, and if the men are gone, we will be left with twice the work. The harvest is perhaps the most important part of the year. Without it, we and our livestock cannot survive the winter. 

A few weeks before the hay harvest, a servant returns with news: the ship was spotted entering the fjord to the harbor. They are likely already at the village by now. 

A mixture of relief and fear runs through me. I am glad to know they’ve returned, but who knows if anyone was injured or killed? And did Erlendur achieve what he set out to do? 

I am reluctant to go to the village, at risk of seeing Gorm there, but the desire to see my husband outweighs my fear. By the time Jorunn and I gather up Ari and Unna and make the trek into the village, it is late afternoon. 

The village is intense and noisy, as is usual after a raid. Judging by all the smiling faces, it seems things were successful. I weave my way carefully through the crowd, holding Ari and Unna’s hands in each of my own to keep from losing them in the crowd. 

As we near the docks, I see chests with silver being unloaded. Relics suggest a Christian monastery may have been plundered. 

A wave of relief washes over me as I see Erlendur standing at the stern of the ship, talking with Freydis and Erik. Ari tugs at my hand, eager to be free of my grip. “Papa! Papa!” he shouts over the noise of the crowd. 

Erlendur cannot hear him, so I let the children go, watching them carefully run down the dock, shouting for their father. I see Erlendur spot them and he leaps from the ship, bending down to scoop them into his arms. 

Freydis smiles as she walks past them and comes over to me. “They almost make me wish I had children. Almost”. 

I laugh. “It is good to see you. I take it the raid went well?” 

“Well enough. We had a little trouble with some of those Northumbrians. But they gave us a little silver to go away, so we headed north and took a monastery elsewhere”. 

“And Erik?” I notice him to our right, in intense conversation with Jorunn. She looks near to tears with relief. 

“He did well. It was nice having someone else be the inexperienced one”. She grins, her playful spark in her eyes. 

I give her a grin back. “I would not call you inexperienced, Freydis. At least not anymore. You are the best shieldmaiden in all of Rogaland, I’m sure”. 

Freydis makes a face of mild disgust. “I’m the only shieldmaiden in Rogaland, I’m sure”. Then, she laughs, tossing her braided hair over her shoulder. “That makes me the best by default, does it not?” 

It is good to see Freydis smiling and laughing. I can still remember how several years ago, Ylva—better known to us as Thora—had used and betrayed her trust and love. Her confidence had been shaken, and it was hard for her trust anyone. But she’s healed and I believe she is stronger now for it. 

“Asgerd is back at the farm with Geir. But I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you. You are welcome to come stay the night”. 

Freydis’ cheeks brighten. “Brynja, not in public! You know most people don’t know about…my preferences”. 

I glance around us. “No one can hear anything in this crowd”. 

“All the same”. Her blue eyes shine. “Did she really say anything about me, or did you just assume?” 

I smile and pat her shoulder. “It’s difficult to not assume. I’ve seen the two of you together”. 

For the past three years, Freydis had been in private sort of relationship with our servant woman, Asgerd. I had been surprised to discover it, even more so when Asgerd admitted to me she was not selective about her bed-partners. 

Asgerd had been a concubine of Hakon, and became our servant when we took over his land. But in the passing years, she’d been so helpful to our family, especially in assisting me with the children, that she feels more like family, an additional sister. 

I am happy for them both. Only a few people, myself and Erlendur included, know of their relationship or Freydis’ attraction to women. It was a strange concept for me to grasp when I first learned of it, but it is hard for me to object when my friend is happy. I think I would object more to a man and a woman being adulterous than I would to two women. But not everyone would be willing to see things this way; some might even call it a defiance of the Gods. So they choose to keep their relationship secret, pretending in public to simply be close friends. 

Erlendur makes his way from the ship over to us, Unna now perched on his shoulders. She peers over everyone’s heads like a queen looking out from her throne. 

“You’re back” I say as he walks up to us. 

“I am. I missed you”. He leans forward to kiss me, ignoring Unna’s objections. 

I enjoy the feel of his lips on mine for a moment, when the memory of Gorm and myself flashes through my mind. I pull away. If Erlendur notices the flush in my cheeks, he does not comment on it. 

Inside the communal hall, people are already gathered, sharing stories of the raid. The hearth fire is lit enough to cook spits of game. A larger pit outside spit-roasts two hogs. The windows and doors are left open to free the smoke and let in air again the summer heat. 

Freydis moves to a side table to join a crowd of fellow raiders already engaged in a friendly, but competitive board game Erlendur sets Unna down and children run off to play with their friends. I watch Ari hurry over to Ingimund and Kjartan, Halla’s two eldest. Both boys hold wooden swords. 

I glance up and notice Gorm standing not far from them. He is not looking in my direction, for which I am grateful. 

Erlendur and I settle ourselves at a table with my father, Jorunn, and Erik. Slaves have laid out stew, meats, and bread and we eagerly help ourselves. I make sure the children get something to eat and settle into my spot of the bench, Erlendur’s arm draped around my shoulders. It is a wonderful feeling to be surrounded with family and friends. Outside, the light is fading and insects chirp, but inside the hall is bright and loud with merriment. A successful raid always brings high spirits. 

I notice Erlendur finish his ale and grab the tankard to refill it. He’s drinking heavier than normal, it seems. I take a breath and ask the question I’ve been wondering. 

“Is it done?” 

Erlendur takes a drink and nods. “I got my revenge. Ragnar Lothbrok is dead”. He falls silent and looks out into the crowd, deep in thought. “And I am not happy with it”. 

I cannot believe what I am hearing. I know Erlendur has thought of avenging his families’ deaths for years. Now that the killer is dead, he is not satisfied? I wait to respond, though, sensing he is to say more. He’s been quieter than usual since his return. I’ve been biting my tongue to keep from asking about it. 

“Nearly thirteen years I waited. I thought if I drew it out, the revenge would be more satisfying. But it wasn’t. Ragnar Lothbrok was no longer a great king…he was a pathetic old man. That’s who I killed. A pathetic old man. Where is the honor in that?” He sneers and takes a long gulp of ale. The look of disgust remains on his face. 

I place my hand on his arm. “You killed the man responsible for your family. They can finally have peace, and so can you. The honor is that you swore revenge and you finally have it”. 

The wolf-sneer slowly ebbs away. In the flicking light of the fire, I see the lines around his eyes, creased deeper with sadness. The guilt he’s carried has worn him down. He looks older than his thirty years. 

I lean forward and kiss his cheek, enjoying the brush of his beard against my lips. I still find him handsome, lines or no. I just wish there was something I could say or do to help him. 

“And his son,” Erlendur says. “His youngest son, Ivar, was with him. He’s a crippled boy, not quite as old as I was when I saw Ragnar kill my father. And he had to watch…as we killed his father. He wouldn’t have recognized me; he was a small child that last time I was in Kattegat. But he’ll want his own revenge. He’ll go after the Northumbrian king. I got revenge for my family, but I didn’t stop anything. The revenge…it just goes around in a circle, each person killing another. It doesn’t end”. 

He pulls away from me and empties his drinking horn, then refills it for the third time tonight. He’s drinking more than usual in his anger. We may be spending the night here in the hall. 

I watch him drain the horn again, but decide not to chastise him over it. He’s angry and emotional now. For over a decade, he’s dreamed of revenge and now he cannot enjoy it. 

“So,” he says bitterly, “how were things here?” 

I catch my breath. I do not want to admit want happened with Gorm, not now, when Erlendur is already so upset. I know I am not to blame, and yet…

“Gudrun had her child. A son, Egil. Her labor began right after you left. Nothing else happened except for Egil’s birth. It was uneventful otherwise,” I say. My voice shakes a bit at that last sentence. 

Even with three horns of ale in him, Erlendur is still coherent enough to catch the quiver in my voice. “Brynja,” he says slowly. “What happened?” 

“Nothing”. 

He turns he gaze on me and his eyes narrow. “You’re not the best liar”. 

I sigh. I may as well tell him since he already suspects. “Alright. I didn’t say anything before because you seemed upset and I didn’t want to anger you. Gorm…came to see me while I was staying at Gudrun’s. He told me he was going to divorce Sigunn,” I take another breath and force the rest out in a rush, “and he kissed me twice and asked me to leave you for him”. 

I look nervously at Erlendur out of the corner of my eye. He can be jealous and protective, though I’ve never given him a reason to believe I’ve ever been unfaithful. And now, with him already angry and slightly drunk, I worry how he’ll react. 

His face, at first glance, seems to be in its blank mask devoid of emotion. But his eyes are narrowed, burning with anger. His brows are drawn tightly together, his lips pressed in a tight line. 

I speak quickly. “I’ll have you know he forced both kisses on me and I didn’t reciprocate either of them. And I told him no when he asked me to leave you”. 

Erlendur does not respond to my words but slowly stands up, scanning the crowds. I know exactly who he is looking for. 

“Erlendur…” I warn him. 

He ignores me and moves off into the crowd, narrow-minded in his pursuit. I follow him, pushing through people to keep up. 

“Erlendur! Erlendur, stop!” 

By now, he has reached the other side of the hall. Gorm is sitting there, with his cousin Atli and a few other men from the village. A slave girl sits on his lap, allowing his to fondle her. I notice Sigunn standing a few feet away. Her face is almost as pale as her blond hair; she looks embarrassed and ashamed. Has Gorm already told her of his intentions to divorce her? 

“Gorm” Erlendur sneers when we reach them. “My wife informed me of what happened between the two of you when I was gone”. 

Several pairs of eyes turn to look at us. I feel my cheeks burning and wish Erlendur might have phrased his words differently. It makes it sound as if we’ve had an affair. 

Gorm pauses his handling of the slave girl to look at us. “And what exactly did she say happened?” 

“She tells me you forcibly kissed her and tried to convince her to leave me, without any success”. 

Gorm looks as angry as Erlendur now. “She’s the one that came to me. Said how she couldn’t bear to have you gone every year. I guess she wanted to have a real man around”. 

Sigunn is looking at me with daggers in her eyes. I only look at Gorm. “You lie! How dare you try to make me the harlot?” 

“You see? Your wife is a whore just like her sister and she hides it behind her act of a good little wife”. 

Before I can even speak up to protest these lies, Erlendur lunges at Gorm. Gorm barely manages to shove the slave girl from his lap before Erlendur tackles his to the floor. They wrestle on the floor like dogs. Erlendur, despite being shorter and leaner, manages to get on top and begins to punch Gorm’s face. Blood runs from his mouth and nose. 

Sigunn screams. I shout at Erlendur to stop. By now, the entire hall has turned to witness what looks like a drunken brawl. 

“Enough! That’s enough!” My father, Arnor, pushes his way through the crowd. Erlendur eases his blows on Gorm long enough for my father to grab his shirt and yank him backwards, like a misbehaving dog. Erlendur slowly gets off Gorm, blood on his knuckles, and a murderous look in his eyes. 

Grimar, the village skald, steps out of the crowd. “What in Thor’s name in going on?” 

“Gorm assaulted my wife then called her a whore” Erlendur snaps. 

“She wanted it!” Gorm, still on the floor, says through a mouthful of blood. 

“You bastard!” I cry. 

“Enough!” my father shouts again. 

Gorm is getting to his feet. Blood runs from his mouth and nose into his dark beard. He swipes at his face and sneers at Erlendur, who returns the look with practiced ease. 

“Why don’t you tell them, Bynja?” Gorm asks me. “Tell them what happened”. 

I want to speak, to defend myself, to swear I was not and have never been unfaithful to my husband. The hall has by now gone quiet and every eye is on us. Only the chirp of insects outside and the snap of twigs from the hearth fill the silence. 

My throat has gone dry and my face burns with embarrassment, though I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. 

Gorm smirks. “You see, she can’t deny it. She sought me out, let me take her like a bitch in heat. And I...” 

I am too horrified and mortified by Gorm’s lies to react, but Erlendur is not. In s swift movement, he lunges forward, not towards Gorm, to the table and snatches up something lying there. 

Several cries go up around the hall as Erlendur spins and swings the one-handed axe he grabbed. With a sickening noise, the axe head drives into Gorm’s skull. Blood splatters from the blow. 

The hall goes into an uproar. It sounds as if at least one woman has fainted. But I cannot tear my eyes away from the sight in from of me. 

My husband, a bloody axe in hand, is standing over the body of Gorm. He was dead before he hit the ground.


	4. The Thing

I spend a sleepless night in our bed. Erlendur lies with his back to me, motionless. I know he is not asleep, either. 

He is already up when I wake the next morning. I go about my morning routine in a fog. I want to believe that last night was simply a terrible dream. Yet, the knotted feeling in my stomach reminds it was not so, and awaiting the retaliation of Gorm’s family leaves the whole farm on edge. 

It comes that afternoon. Grimar, the village skald, arrives, his normally cheerful face drawn with concern. I want to believe he is on our side. Yet when I welcome him into the hall he shifts his face away and does not quite meet my eyes. 

“Brynja, where is your husband?” 

I do not answer. Erlendur has spent the day withdrawn from everyone, as silent and pale as death. 

Grimar’s voice is gentle. “I mean him no harm. I am only here to speak on behalf of others”. 

“If there were others that wanted words with my husband, perhaps that should have come themselves”. The words are out my mouth before I can stop them. 

Grimar shifts from one foot to the other in discomfort. I cannot tell if he agrees with me or not. But he is only here as the messenger. 

“I’m sorry, Grimar. I’m not angry with you. Please, sit. Have some ale”. I gesture to a chair by the hearth. 

Grimar nods and sinks into it. “Thank you”. He takes the ale I’ve poured for him. 

The hall door opens and Erlendur steps inside. His eyes take in Grimar and he pales. He looks to me. 

I gesture between the two of them. The tension in the room is thicker than fog. “Grimar is here to speak with you, Erlendur”. 

Erlendur moves to sit in a chair opposite Grimar. I sit on the edge of the hearth next to him. 

“Say what you have to”. Erlendur’s eyes never leave our guest. 

Grimar clears his throat. “I am here on behalf of the village elders, to deliver a summons to the summer Thing, so that you, Erlendur Horiksson, can be tried and charged for the murder of Gorm Ebranson”. 

I instinctively reach my hand out to lay it on Erlendur’s leg. I have expected a trial, yet hearing the words out of Grimar’s mouth terrifies me. 

“When?” Erlendur asks. He does not sound worried, merely resigned. 

“Two weeks from today, at the oak grove. At midday”. 

Erlendur nods mutely. I nervously tighten my hand over Erlendur’s thigh. 

Grimar looks between us. “What answer shall I give?” 

I look to my husband, and when he does not speak, that far-away look forming in his eye, I respond. “We’ll be there, of course. And we’ll pay the weirgild”. It is the blood-money, the price of a man’s life to be paid to his family as compensation. 

Grimar nods. He finishes the ale. “I will pass on your words. Thank you for the ale”. 

We all stand, and Erlendur darts for the back of the hall without a word. I escort Grimar to the door and bid him farewell. 

Inside, I find Erlendur in our room, haphazardly shoving clothing into a leather pack. 

I stand in the doorway and fold my arms across my chest. “What are you doing?”

Erlendur does not look up at me. “Preparing”. 

“For what?”

A hiss of frustration escapes him. He pauses enough to glare at me. “What do you think, Brynja? After what I’ve done? And now I’ve been summoned to the Thing! Do you truly believe I’ll be able to stay here?” 

“This is your home! You’ll pay the weirgild and the matter will be settled. You’re not leaving”. 

“I may not have a choice! I killed Gorm in front of the whole village. It would be different if it was in battle or a duel, but it wasn’t. I murdered a man!” Erlendur’s voice rises to a shout. 

“You were defending me, your wife. You had every right to do so. After what he said…” I trail off. Perhaps I am being bias, but Erlendur is my husband. What wife would I be if I were not on his side? 

Erlendur is shaking his head. He goes back to shoving clothes in the pack, not even folding them. “I’ll pay the weirgild,” he says, “but I’m preparing for the worst”. 

“So, you would just leave? Abandon us, your family?” I walk over to the bed and pick up a leather pouch. I hear the cling of metal inside. 

My husband does not answer. I weight the bag in my hand. “How much?” I ask. 

“One pound. In silver”. 

I grimace and toss the pouch onto the bed covers. “That’s too much”. 

“How do you determine the price of a man’s life?” 

I want to answer, but it is a question I don’t know the answer to. “I suppose I’ll pack, too” 

“Too? If I leave you are not coming with me”. 

“No? Because as I recall, we are married. We have children together. We are a family. And families should stay together”. 

“If…,” Erlendur pauses to take a breath, “if I am outlawed, my life is all but forfeit. An outlaw has nothing and no one. I would not be much different that I was when I first came here all those years ago. But at least then I had my sword to own. An outlaw has nothing. An outlaw is nothing. And you know it is law any man can kill an outlaw with no consequence. It is a fate worse than death”. 

I reach out to take his hand in mine. “I know that” I say softly, “but I also know that when we married we took oaths before the Gods that we would stay together and support one another, no matter what fate lay before us. I am not going to break those oaths. Perhaps an outlaw is nothing, but you are my husband, my friend, the father of my children, and you will always be something to me. So, if at the Thing they try to pass judgement and send you away, I am coming with you. And not you, not the villagers, not even the Gods are going to deter me”. 

Erlendur and I stare at one another in silence for what seems a long time. Then, he grasps my hand harder, pulls me to him, and kisses my lips. I wrap my free arm around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair. We’ve kissed hundreds of times, but at moments like this, it feels like the first. I finally pull away, if only for air. 

We stare into each other’s eyes. I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes say everything my heart wants to hear. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The next few weeks pass in a blur. No amount of work can distract me from my fear of Erlendur’s fate. The packs we prepared sit in our room, with clothes and supplies for ourselves and the children. If the Thing goes badly, we’ll be ready. 

The Thing is a gathering that takes place several times throughout the year. Things may be local or regional, and they provide an opportunity for neighbors and friends to gather together to trade news, plan marriages, and forge alliances. It is also the time for all the freemen to gather together to discuss and create laws and to pass judgement on criminals. 

The morning of the dreaded day finally arrives. Erlendur and I decide the leave the children at the farm; though they are young, we’ve agreed they don’t need to be witnesses to their father’s trial. 

I have a bath and dress carefully. While it may be acceptable for one to go to the Thing in worn or patched clothing, to be filthy or with uncombed hair would be inexcusable. I usually do not put so much effort into my appearance aside from special occasions. But the Thing tends to be dominated by the most powerful families in the area. We have one of the larger and wealthier farms in the area, and I hope this will give us some advantage.

I select the best dress I own, a red gown covered by a green coat embroidered with gold thread. Fox fur lines the collar. It is far too elaborate for everyday wear, but today is so important. I will not let others at the Thing think they can intimidate us. 

I keep my jewelry in an enameled box Erlendur brought me from a raid years ago. I take out the glass bead necklace, also a gift from Erlendur. I remember how he gave it to me the summer the old farm had been destroyed. I can still recall his words when he gave it to me: “You make me want to be a better man”. Did Erlendur believe he was a better man now? Did those words still hold true? I brush away tears that threaten to form in my eyes and fasten the necklace. 

Erlendur does not care to dress beyond his everyday clothes, but I pull out the dark green tunic I made for him several winters ago. It is one of his finest, and I’d spent a long time perfecting the embroidery into the image of a snarling wolf’s head. He puts it on without a word and even lets me comb out his long hair, fastening the top half at the back of his head and letting the rest flow down his shoulders. 

We arrive at the oak grove just before midday. The place is already crowded with families from the village and surrounding farms. Booths and tents have been set up by those who plan to stay overnight. Some people have brought wares and goods with them to trade or sell. 

We would come to the annual Things to meet with our friends, to laugh, to drink, to share stories and news and enjoy ourselves. But now, the same people we once raised drinks with, the same people we have lived alongside for years, turn to us with looks of anger or mistrust. Others glare with stony faces and some turn their backs completely. 

I have expected such a reaction, yet it still tears at my heart. I was born on a small farm just outside the village. I was raised here; I know these people. To see them scold and turn their backs on us is more painful than any wound. 

As the midday summer sun beats down through the leaves, everyone gathers before the largest tree at the center of the grove. Before it, stands the law speaker, a brown-haired middle-aged man, as well as the local chieftains and elders. These men hold my husband’s fate—perhaps even his life—in their hands. 

The law speaker steps forward. It is he who knows all the laws of our land and he recites them from memory. The only sounds that fill that grove as he speaks are the crackling of fires and the calls of birds and insects. I keep my eyes focused ahead on the law speaker, not daring to look around me anymore. 

Grimar used to tell Erlendur’s story: how a mysterious man arrived in the village and led the men on great raids to the west, how he dueled a cruel man to save an innocent woman (that woman being myself). Grimar had embellished the story somewhat to make it even more dramatic, though most of it was truth. Now, would that story of my husband’s brave accomplishments ever be told again? And would the death of Gorm and this trial be included? Would Erlendur be portrayed in a just light, or as a cruel murderer of a defenseless man? 

The law speaker gestures at us to step forward. Every eye seems to be on us now. 

He looks out over the crowd. “We are here to judge and sentence Erlendur Horikson for the murder of Gorm Ebransson. You have all heard the story, or versions of it. Erlendur and Gorm entered into a scuffle over Erlendur’s wife, Brynja Arnorsdottir, that ended with Gorm’s death”. 

There are murmurs through the crowd. I suspect some people have already judged Erlendur themselves. 

The law speaker holds up his hand for silence. “Those of you who have gone on raids and trading expeditions can attest to the bravery and skill of this man. Those of you who were around to witness it know of his duel with Hakon Hfranson. He has taught our men warfare and raiding skills and led us farther over the sea then we ever dared to go. We all know of his courage, skill in battle, and his loyalty to his wife and her family”. 

There are more murmurs in the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some nodding in agreement. I notice Erik standing a little way to the side, trying to be near Jorunn. He catches my eye gives me a small smile and nod. I find it reassuring that at least he seems to be supportive. 

I am surprised, though, when he steps forward. “If I may speak on Erlendur’s behalf,” he begins nervously. He clears his throat and continues, “I know I am just a farmhand for Arnor. But I have worked and hunted alongside Erlendur, and I can attest to his character. He allowed me to go on the last raid, and while we were there…he saved my life. We had gotten into a fight with some strange men from the lands north of England. During the fight, I stumbled and would have been killed had Erlendur not come to my aid. He is a good man who I believe simply acted in defense of his wife’s honor. I would like to know his story before we judge him”. 

I am shocked and look over at my husband. His face gives away nothing. I had not heard anything about Erlendur saving Erik’s life. 

The law speaker waits for the grove to settle from this news before speaking again. “Erlendur Horikson,” he looks only at my husband. “Would you explain to all your actions? Why did you slay Gorm Ebranson?” 

I grasp Erlendur’s hand and squeeze it. I am relieved when he reciprocates. He speaks clearly, addressing the whole crowd. “I had just returned from a western raid. My wife had been staying at the home of her sister Gudrun, to assist her with the birth of her child. She informed me upon my return, that while I was gone, Gorm came to her and forcibly kissed her and tried to convince her to leave me for him”. He pauses and glances in the direction of Sigunn, who stands with her own family. “He also said he intended to divorce his wife”. 

There is a gasp of outrage and surprise in the crowd. I glance over to Sigunn and see her shocked and pale, near to tears. I almost feel pity for her, but then I remember how she’d also spoken to me with contempt. She’s been cruel to me even on my own wedding day, embittered by her inability to carry a child. 

Erlendur continues. “When my wife told me what Gorm had done to her, how he kissed and groped her without her consent, I was furious. I went to confront Gorm. He denied it all, claiming Brynja had come to him. He made implications that she was a whore. My wife and I have been married for six years. She is the most loyal woman I have ever known. I know she would never willingly betray me. So, to hear this man insult her and sully her reputation was unbearable, and also an insult to me. Yes, I killed Gorm Ebranson, I am guilty, but I only did so in retaliation. My wife’s honor had been put into question. As Erik said, I acted in her defense”. 

Erlendur falls silent. The villagers turn to whisper to one another with this information. 

I bite my lip. Erlendur has confessed to Gorm’s murder, and no one present in the hall that night can deny his actions. 

The law speaker clears his throat. Silence slowly settles back over the grove. “We have heard Erlendur’s story. However, he has admitted to his guilt of being a murderer. If a mere insult to his wife is enough to drive him to kill, what else might? A man who kills another without the slightest apprehension is a killer and a danger to us”. 

I cannot believe what I am hearing! The law speaker has heard Erlendur’s reasoning and is twisting it to make him seem like a heartless killer. I glance over to him, but my husband is keeping his face as neutral as he can. 

I cannot stand here and let his life be destroyed. I let go of Erlendur’s hand and step forward. I know a woman’s counsel is not always considered in matters of law or politics, at least not here, but I must speak. 

“I am Brynja Arnorsdottir, the wife of Erlendur. My husband has come here today to accept his fate. And yet, when he tells his story, the truth, you twist his words! My husband acted only in my defense. He was upholding my honor and you seek to punish him?” 

“Your husband killed—“the law speaker begins. 

I interrupt him. “Killed a man who cared nothing for his wife, who lay with any woman but her and blamed her for their inability to have a child. He was ready to divorce her for it. He came to me, put his hands on me, assaulted me. I doubt I am the only woman to have suffered under his hands. My husband slayed him, yes, but his motive was sound”. I pause to look over the other men in the crowd. “What if it were your wives or daughters? Does their honor mean anything to you? Would you have not done the same as my husband to defend them?” 

I see some people shifting and muttering. I hope my words have had an effect. I look to Erlendur; his face is kept as emotionless as possible, but I think I see a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. 

“Truth!” Sigunn steps forward and screams at me. “You claim my husband’s actions were true, but how are we to believe you? It is your word against his, and now he is dead”. 

I go to respond, but she continues before I can speak. Her voice carries for all to hear. 

“And is it not true, that you claimed Hakon also attacked you? And then Erlendur slayed him in a duel and took his land. What coincidence! What about you is so wonderful that all the men come onto you? I think your reputation is a sham, and you are just as much a whore as my husband claimed! You and your sister both. Why else would he want to leave me for a woman like you?” 

I am stunned. Before Gorm’s lies, I had a good reputation in the village. Now, with a few cruel words I am portrayed as a harlot and my husband a killer. 

“Your husband wanted to leave you because you cannot bear a child and you know it. That, and you are also a heinous bitch”. This last part slips from my mouth before I can stop it. But it is what I’ve privately thought of Sigunn from the moment we met. 

There is an uproar in the crowd now at my words. Even Erlendur looks stunned. Sigunn glares at me with a venomous look. I square my shoulders and glare back. 

I have always tried to be supportive of the other woman in my life. The Gods know we suffer. Yet I have tried to not hate any. Ylva, it is true, I hated. She manipulated Freydis and nearly killed my son. Sigunn, I have detested for her attitude and her bitterness towards any woman capable of bearing a child. But now, I truly loathe her. 

The law speaker raises his hands and shouts to gain control of the crowd. When everyone finally settles, he speaks. “Brynja, we thank you for your contribution. But I have heard enough. It is time to decide the sentence”. 

I move back to Erlendur’s side. He takes me my hand. “Thank you” he murmurs in my ear. 

The law speaker addresses the crowd. “I have heard the words spoken here today and have also consulted with the Gods. And I have reached a decision”. 

“It is true that Erlendur Horikson killed a man in cold blood. The penalty for murder is outlawry or death”. 

I catch my breath. Erlendur’s grip tightens in my hand. 

The law speaker continues. “However, I have also heard of Erlendur’s brave deeds and his contributions to our community. I believe the Gods brought him here for these purposes”. 

“But, I still cannot allow a murder to walk free among our village. So, Erlendur Horikson, I sentence you to period of three year’s banishment from Rogaland. When three years from today have passed, you may return. You have until sundown tomorrow to pass the border”. 

I do not know whether to be relieved or terrified. Lesser outlawry is still a terrible punishment, though Erlendur has only been banished from the kingdom of Rogaland and not Norway altogether. 

I would like to have had the opportunity to speak with Halla and Freydis. They are my oldest friends, yet they are also Gorm’s sisters. I would like to think they would not be angry with us, yet…family ties are strong, and our culture has clear expectations in situations like this. Gorm was their brother and I cannot blame them if they feel they must support their family. I would do the same if I was in their position. 

But I have seen enough of the cold faces aimed at us. So Erlendur and I leave the Thing immediately. He does not speak, so I do not know if he is relieved or worried. 

Back at the farm, we gather our packs and saddle the horses. I am not sure how we are to travel with three small children, but I stand by what I said to Erlendur. We are a family and we are staying together. 

My father helps us to prepare. He holds out a leather pouch to me. I open it and am stunned to find silver coins, bracelets, and rings inside. “What is all this?” 

“Silver from the hoards. I don’t care what the others may say, my daughter, her husband and children are not going to go with nothing. Take it. You can use it to pay for food and shelter”. 

Tears come to my eyes and I brush them away. “Thank you, papa”. I wish he could come with us. But he, Jorunn, and Asgerd will remain on the farm. It is still our family's and I know as long as my father lives, it will remain so. 

In the stables, we find Erik and Jorunn helping to saddle the horses. A pack horse has also been prepared. “I put extra food in the packs as well as some furs and the cloth from last year’s wool” Jorunn tells me. “It is as much as we can manage, but it will hold you for a little while, at least to reach the border”. 

I pull her into a hug. “Thank you. I am sorry we will miss your day”. Our father has agreed that she and Erik might marry next spring. I regret I will not be there to be an attendant for her. 

“Take care” Erik tells us. Erlendur places a hand on his shoulder. 

“You as well. And thank you for speaking on my behalf”. 

“I only wish it might have made more of a difference”. 

We try not to linger over good-byes. We only have until the end of the day tomorrow to be past the border, so we must leave. Ari and Unna are too young to understand what is happening; they simply assume we are going on a trip and race around in excitement. 

“Will we come back soon?” Ari asks. “I want to play at swords with Ingimund. I can beat him” he brags. 

I force a smile. I do not know what to say. 

I have Geir secured in a leather bundle I can wrap around my shoulders to hold him even while I ride. Erik will accompany us as far as the border. He drives a small wagon with supplies. Ari and Unna sit in the wagon with him. We are taking supplies with us, ignoring the rules the bind an outlaw to have nothing. There is the risk Erlendur could be killed legally simply for his outlawry. But I hope if we can make it past the border, we can slip away where no one will know of his sentence and live somewhere quietly, at least until we can go home again. 

We head east. I glance behind us once to look over the farm. I wonder if we will ever see it again.


	5. The Earl and the Shieldmaiden

The Gods seem to be smiling on us. Or laughing. But we make it to the edge of Rogaland with no issues. 

On the third morning, the city of Kaupang appears on the horizon. It’s ramparts stretch into the sky; the walls of the city run along three sides, with the south side left open for the harbor. 

We join the crowd headed through the gate. The reds, blues, yellows, and greens of clothing all jostle together into a colorful sea of people. A sharp, cool breeze blows in from the sea, carrying with it the scents of animals, sea salt, herbs, and waste. 

We pass through the crowd, keeping a close watch on the children. Booths are set up along the streets, vendors shouting and holding out their products. Their voices mix with the noise of horse hooves, the hum of people’s conversations and the din from various shops and stalls. 

I feel swamped by everything. Even the village’s most crowded market day was nothing compared to this. I lose count of all the buildings we pass. Hundreds of people must live within these walls and hundreds more must pass through their markets. I hold tightly to Unna with one hand and hold Geir in my other arm. 

Erlendur leans over and says to me, “Kaupang is a great trading town. It’s the largest in all of Norway”. He almost must shout for me to hear him. I nod to show I’ve heard, but doubt he’d hear a response from me in this crowd. 

This city seems to have a life of its own. I can feel the energy flowing through this place. Some of the people in this crowd look like us: pale, often light-haired, fair features, and mostly blue eyes. But there are others who have dark complexions, their facial features different from what I am used to seeing. They wear clothing styles very different from our own. I wonder if they are possibly warm enough. 

Erlendur nods his head towards some of the people, who are selling a beautiful cloth that shimmers like water. “Those traders are all the way from the south, in a desert land far away from here”. 

“What is it they’re selling?” I ask. “It’s beautiful”. 

“Silk. It’s a very fine material. And very expensive. More than we can afford right now”. 

I realize, not for the first time, how much more worldly and experienced Erlendur is than I. He’s traveled to different countries and gone across the western sea. I am, at five-and-twenty, only just going beyond the boundaries of my childhood home. I suddenly feel very ignorant. 

There is a thrill at being away from my home for the first real time in my life, yet also a great sadness. As impressive as this city appears, I miss the quiet countryside surrounding our little village. I do not think I’ll ever be used to this place. 

By the end of the night, Erlendur finds us a place to stay. We use some of the silver to purchase a small house, surrounded by a little fenced yard, in the middle of the city. 

This house is more a hut than hall. It is barely half the size of the longhouse I was raised in. The walls are made of wood and wattle—woven branches smeared with mud—and the roof is thatched straw. A few rafters keep it upright. 

There is a decent sized hearth in the center, with enough room for cooking. Benches run along the walls, topped with blankets and furs to serve as beds in the evening. In the corner farthest from the door, the bench is wide enough to sleep two adults side-by-side, with a curtain portioning it off; the closest thing this hut has to a bed. This house may sleep two adults and three children, but it is cramped. 

There is some space along the longest walls for looms. A sturdy table and benches are in one corner. Behind the table are some shelves and a little space for storing food and supplies. On the far side of the house is a stabled area for livestock. There is just enough room in it for several goats or two horses or cows. Our two riding horses are currently stabled there. 

Outside in the yard is a small shed and pen with room for a couple of goats or pigs, perhaps a few chickens. We currently have no other animals besides our horses. I hope to turn an unused corner of the yard into a vegetable garden, but it may have to wait until next year. I am not sure what we are to do about food with our lack of fields and herds, but I won’t think about that now. 

The hearth fire crackles and provides the only light in the room. Outside, the wind is blowing harder. A storm is coming. 

I am grateful for this shelter, however small and unlike our old home it may be. It is surprisingly comfortable and warm. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance. I strain to see my weaving in the faint light, but give up. There is not enough light to see my work and it hurts my eyes to try. I move to sit next to the hearth, watching the flames dance and flicker. 

Another roll of thunder shakes the hut and rain begins to pound the roof. Steam rises over the hearth as raindrops fall in from the smoke-hole above. I watch the water drip down and realize the rook is leaking. I get up and quietly rummage around for a spare bucket. I set it underneath the leak. I will have to tell Erlendur tomorrow; he should be able to fix it. 

I sink back into my spot by the hearth and look around the little house. My husband and children sleeping soundly in their bed-places. The drinking horns and bowls, freshly washed after dinner, are stacked by the hearth. 

I am glad we have something to call home, yet I find myself wondering what happened to my life. We went from living in a fine hall to living in a dirt-floor hut. I shake my head, cursing myself. I should be relieved. We are here because my husband fought for my honor, even if it meant killing a man and being outlawed. He’d done that for me. 

I recall how I’d once told Erlendur how I’d rather live in a dirt-floor hut with someone who respected me than in a great hall with a man who did not. I smile ruefully to myself. That is exactly where I am. The Gods must’ve laughed at that moment. 

A loud clap of thunder startles me. I jump and nearly land in the hearth pit. I shudder and lean away from the flames. Years ago, I was badly burned on my shoulder when our old farm was put to the torch. I have forever been a little wary. 

Another roll of thunder, louder and stronger than the first, rumbles through the sky. As it fades, a shriek fills the room. I turn sharply to see Unna huddled in her blankets, hands clasped over her ears. 

“Sweetheart, what is it?” I move to sit at the edge of her bench. Behind me, I hear Erlendur grumbling and sitting up. 

“I don’t like the noise” Unna pouts. “It hurts my ears, and it’s scary”. 

Geir, woken by all the commotion, begins to cry from his cradle. I sigh and pick him up, rocking him back and forth. Erlendur gets out of bed and comes over to Unna’s bed, yawning. I can hear Ari stirring in his own bed. Now we’re all awake. 

Unna sits up and holds her arms out for Erlendur. She has always been “Papa’s girl”. Erlendur scoops her up and holds her to his bare chest. She says, “I don’t like the noise. I’m scared”. Another rumble of thunder follows and she screams and dives back down into her blankets. Even the horses in the stable begin to snort and stomp. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be afraid” I tell her, stroking her hair. “It’s just the Gods”. 

“That’s right” Erlendur says. “Anytime you hear the thunder, just know it’s only Thor beating his hammer. He’s probably off fighting the Jotuns right now”. 

Unna peeks out of her covers. “Thor? The one with goats?” This is how Unna remembers this God; she adores goats and loves that Thor’s chariot is pulled by two of them. 

Erlendur chuckles and starts to tuck her back into bed. “Yes, the one with goats. And Thor is good. He is the protector of Midgard. Know that when you hear the thunder it is nothing to be afraid of, just Thor keeping us safe”. 

“And are we safe here?” Unna whispers innocently. 

Erlendur and I exchange a glance. We should be safe enough. We are out of Rogaland, not even bordering it. Erlendur was only banished from that kingdom. 

“Yes, princess” Erlendur says confidently. “We’re safe here”. He kisses her forehead. 

“Tell me more stories” she begs. 

“Perhaps tomorrow night” I tell her. “Now it’s time for bed”. 

We tuck the children back in and kiss them goodnight, then crawl into bed ourselves. Yet I lie awake for a long while, staring at the beams and listening to the wind and rain.   
………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I wander through the market with Geir. About a week has passed since we’ve settled in Kaupang. The crowd is smaller and quieter than the day we first arrived, yet I am still overwhelmed. I hold Geir tightly in my arms and glance periodically at the small pouch of coins fastened to my belt, to reassure myself it’s still there. Most of the silver my father gave us has been divided up and hidden at various places around the house. I take out only a small amount when we need it. 

By the harbor, dozens of trading ships are being unloaded. Their striped sails of red, green, and blue blow in the breeze. Bags of grain, bolts of wool cloth, and jars of ale are being loaded onto one ship, while another is being unloaded. A third ship stinks up the place with a catch of fish. 

Slaves, their faces dirty and frightened, are being led away to be sold. I feel a twinge in my heart when I see a small girl among them. It has always been a normal part of our lives to keep slaves yet it is still painful to watch a child, knowing the future that is likely in store for them. I cannot imagine if it were one of my children. 

I shake the though away and move to the stalls selling fruit and vegetables. It is too late in the season for the small garden in our yard to produce anything now. We must carefully purchase and ration out what food we can to get through winter. I try to tell myself it will be just like at home. But I am not used to buying all my food from others. 

As I inspect the apples on display, I notice a child from the corner of my eye. It is a little boy, no more than Ari’s age of five, perhaps six. He has reddish-gold hair tousled from the breeze. A sprinkle of freckles crosses the bridge of his nose and there is dirt smudged on one cheek. With one eye on the vendor, he reaches up one tiptoe to snatch an apple from the stand and takes a bite. At that moment, the fruit merchant decides to turn around and spots the little thief. 

“You! Boy!” The merchant reaches over the booth and grabs the boy’s arm roughly. “What do you think you’re doing, stealing my fruit?” The man pulls a knife from his belt. “Do you know what happened to thieves?” 

It is not my business to interfere, but I cannot stand by and allow a child to be mutilated. The merchant has the boy’s arm held down and he lifts the knife with the other. The child, terrified, begins to cry and scream for mercy. 

“No!” I shout reaching my hand out to grab the offended merchant’s arm. “He is just a child. He doesn’t know any better!” 

The man pauses and eyes me. “This your boy?” He jerks his head to the child he’s still holding. The boy is no longer screaming, but snivels and watches with frightened, tear-filled eyes. 

“Yes” I say without thinking. “He’s…my son. He’s just trying to help me pick out some apples. He didn’t know any better. Let me pay for them and we’ll be on our way”. 

The merchant eyes me until I feel uncomfortable. I doubt he believes my story. I notice the boy, despite his tousled hair and dirty cheeks is well-dressed, in some fine wool tunic and trousers. This is no vagrant child; his family is clearly well off. Why, then, is he stealing food? 

My own attire doesn’t help the situation. I wear a simple dress of brown wool, slightly stained from Geir’s after-breakfast vomit. I have a rough summer cloak around my shoulders, my only jewelry is my wedding ring and a simple beaded necklace. A few stands of hair have blown loose from my braid. Of course, it is suspicious that this well-dressed child is mine. 

Thankfully, the merchant decides not to question me. “Alright, wench, just pay for the fruit. But if I catch the boy again I’ll be dealing with him my own way. And no woman’s pleading will stop me”. 

I shiver at the malicious tone but quickly take out some coins and pay for a few apples. I place them in my basket, drape it over my arm, and with my free hand grab the child and drag him away. 

The boy squirms in my grip but I wait until we’re out of sight of the merchant to release him. “It’s alright” I croon in the soft voice I use for my own children when they’re upset. “I won’t hurt you”. 

“You’re not my mother!” he says, watching me nervously. “You can’t take me! My father will get you!” 

“No, no” I murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t want that man to. Have you stolen from him before?” 

The boy mumbles under his breath and kicks at the dirt. 

“Rodulf! Where have you been, boy?” A loud voice overwhelms us. 

I jump and turn around to the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life. He is massive, head and shoulders above me, and built like a bear. Brilliant red hair falls down his shoulders and a shaggy red beard covers his face. He wears a fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders and I catch a glimmer of gold on his belt. A long red scar runs down the left side of his face, from his temple to across his cheek. 

I am frozen in fear as the man advances on me. I clutch Geir to my chest and wonder whether I should try to run into the crowd. 

“Who are you and what are you doing with my son?” the giant demands. 

“She tried to take me!” the boy cries, pointing at me. By now he has moved to stand behind his father’s massive leg. 

“No, no!” I say, unable to keep the panic from my voice. “The vendor at the fruit stand, he caught the boy trying to take an apple. I lied and said he was my son only so the man wouldn’t hurt him. I don’t mean him any harm!” 

Geir, who has been lying quietly this whole time, beings to stir and whimper. The man takes notice. “You have a little one”. His voice changes to a soft coo, surprising for a man of his stature. 

“Yes,” I reply. I swallow as my throat has gone dry. “And two more little ones at home” I add hopefully. “With my husband”. 

The giant turns to look down at the boy. “Is what the lady said true? Did you try stealing again?” 

The boy turns his eyes downward and mutters an affirmative. The man shakes his head. “I’ll bust your backside if you ever do it again, do you understand?” 

The child squeaks in response. 

The man turns to me. “What is your name, lady?” 

I hesitate. I don’t know how safe it would be to tell this man as I don’t know him. But his eyes and voice have softened now, and he doesn’t seem quite as frightening as when he first appeared. 

I swallow and lick at my dry lips. “Brynja. My name is Brynja. And this is Geir”. 

“I am Earl Rorik. This town is under my jurisdiction. And this is my youngest son, Rodulf”. 

I nod and say to Rodulf. “I have a son around your age”. 

Rodulf does not seem interested, but Rorik replies. “You and your family must come to the hall tonight for dinner. As thanks for saving my son from his own foolishness”. 

“Thank you, sir. I will have to speak to my husband. And I’m sure your boy meant no harm”. 

Rorik looks down at his son. “It is not the first time he’s snuck away from his nurse and gotten into trouble”. 

I am not sure how to respond. “Thank you again for your invitation. I will have to see if my husband…” 

“What does your husband do?” Rorik interrupts me. 

I hesitate. What to say? No longer a farmer, but I cannot let this man know of Erlendur’s outlawry. 

“We…we just moved here” I say. “Before that we had a farm…” I trail off, unsure. I do not want to risk giving away too much. 

“Fallen on hard times?” Rorik asks sympathetically. Before I can respond, he continues, “I understand. Many families have been driven out of their homes by the petty kings. They all think they can fight against the true king”. 

“The...true king?” I ask carefully. 

“King Harald. He is king in these parts, in the Vestfold. And one day, if the Gods will it, which I’m sure they will, he’ll be king over all Norway. I am pledged to held him in his quest and for that he’s made me earl”. Rorik puffs out his already large chest with pride. 

I have learned a great deal more than I’ve expected from this man. “I’m sure he will” I say and force a smile. “Thank you for the invitation. I must go and see to my children. But I will be sure to bring my family tonight”. 

Rorik grins, showing slightly crooked teeth. “I already look forward to your presence again, lady. We will feast in the great hall tonight at sundown”. 

We part ways each with our own child. I hurry through the crowd back to the house. I have much to tell Erlendur.   
…………………………………………………………………………………………………

That evening, I stand in front of the great hall with my husband and children. It is a massive building, twice the size of the communal hall in our old village. 

Inside the double doors, the long hall stretches out into darkness. It is too far for me to see the end in the smoky, hazy light. The hall is lit by a huge hearth. The smell of roasted meat wafts out into the street. In the hall are dozens of people talking, laughing, clapping their hands. Filling up the rest of the space is the sound of harp music. 

Erlendur glances over at me and traces his hand along the silver trim on his sword hilt. I felt it might be offensive to bring a sword into a feast, but Erlendur refused to leave without it. He has been wary and on edge since the Thing. 

I fight the urge to smooth out my skirt. I am wearing the best dress I brought with me, an embroidered gown a pale red and pink. A necklace of glass beads is fastened around my throat. We had not wasted room in our packs bringing finer clothing, but I hope we look presentable enough for the banquet. I see many people around us in good wool, fine furs, and even silk. The firelight gleams off gold and jewels. 

Near a table at the far end of the hall, I see Rorik. The fur cloak is gone and he wears a gold pendant over his tunic. A wide leather belt with a gold fastener wraps around his large waist. He spots me in the crowd and comes over. 

“Well met, lady. I am glad to see you again”. 

“It’s Brynja” I remind him. 

“Of course, and your family?”

I notice Erlendur eyeing Rorik with his eyes narrowed. One hand is resting casually on his hilt. 

I send a quick prayer up to the Gods for a good evening. “This is my husband, Erlendur. And our two other children, Ari and Unna”. I tell my children. Rorik has a son around your age”. 

“Yes, we’ll have to introduce them. He could use a friend”. Rorik looks to my husband and the two men eye one another. “Erlendur…not the same who killed Hakon Hfranson in a duel?” 

Erlendur tilts his chin up, as if challenging Rorik’s disbelief. “The same. He was not the first man I killed or the last”. 

I nudge Erlendur in the side with my elbow and hope Rorik doesn’t notice. 

“Impressive. I met the man once years ago. Too arrogant to leave much of an impression me. I heard it was an impressive victory. He was known for being a ruthless fighter”. 

Erlendur brightens a little at the compliment and relaxes for the first time. “His arrogance was his downfall. He made it easy for me”. 

We all move towards the main table, Erlendur and Rorik now in a discussion about duels and battles they’ve fought. As we’re served fresh meat, they discover they both hail from Denmark and had been on the raids in Paris at the same time.   
Erlendur does not openly show it, but I sense he’s thrilled to have found a man he has things in common with. Rorik tells us of his upbringing as the son of a well-off landowner and how he joined his Earl’s troops on raids. In the last Paris raid, he’d defected from under Ragnar Lothbrok’s kingship to join Harald. 

“Ragnar Lothbrok was no longer a great king. He’d become an arrogant fool, an embarrassment. I could not swear fealty to such a man. But Harald! Now, that man is a true Viking!” 

“Rorik” Erlendur says lifting his drinking horn. "You and I seem to think the same. And I think we could be very good friends”. 

“Agreed. To friendship and fortune!” Rorik toasts. “Skald!” The men drink together. 

I am glad to see Erlendur has made a friend. And Ari and Unna have gone off to play with Rodulf and some other children. We may be able to make a life here after all. 

As my husband and the Earl continue their talks of raids, I look up and down the table, inspecting the other people. I catch the eye of a middle-aged blond woman. Not wanting to be rude, I give her a polite nod and look away. 

“You’re new here” a woman’s voice is behind me. “I’m Ragnfridr. My husband and I are part of Rorik’s warriors”. 

I glance over my shoulder to see the woman I'd looked at a moment ago. She is a tall, buxom woman with thick flaxen hair falling from her head in braids. Her eyes are bright green, and they glimmer mischievously. She wears a long dress in a shade matching her eyes, held in place by a wide leather belt. Silver glimmers at her ears and wrists. Even dressed for a feast, she has the bearing of a warrior. 

“You are a shieldmaiden?” I am surprised. Freydis is the only one I’ve known. In our remote village, it is mainly the men who do the fighting and raiding while the women tended the domestic duties of the home and farm. 

“I am. And I’ve never seen you here before”. Without asking, she takes the seat next to me. “Who are you?” 

“My name is Brynja. My family and I just moved here”. I hope she does not ask too many probing questions as to why or where we came from. 

The shieldmaiden eyes me up and down. I try to not feel self-conscious of my simple dress and jewelry. “A pretty woman like you, the men will be all over. Your father will have to beat them away”. 

I shake my head and hold up my left hand. “Thank you, but I am married. And I have three children already”. 

Ragnfridr looks surprised. “You look so young. I thought you weren’t out of your teens. Forgive me if I’ve insulted you”. 

I shake my head. “Not at all”. 

My companion smiles, revealing beautiful white teeth. “Well, no matter. You’ll appreciate your youth when you’re my age and you look younger than you are. I just reached forty and have five children, but I’m still strong as an ox”. She casually lifts the sleeve of her gown to show off a well-toned forearm. 

I am amazed. A lifetime of farm work has never given me the same definition in my muscles. Ragnfridr appears fitter than many of the men. 

I ask about her children and we launch into a conversation. I tell her how Geir just cut his first tooth and has starts eating solids (or rather, mashed carrots). He babbles but says no words yet, not even a proper “Papa” or “Mama”. She has five children between the ages of two and twelve. She offers me advice on children and we share stories and laugh. 

Ragnfridr seems wonderful; she has a joyful disposition that is contagious. She smiles at me in a friendly matter and I feel some of my stress and worry from the past days ease. Though I am not a shieldmaiden like her, I could see myself becoming her friend. 

Her husband, Ebbe, is the same height as her. He is stocky, his head shaven and covered in tattoos. A scruffy, dark beard lines his jaw. He laughs boisterously, and seems capable of out-drinking everyone. There is a playful look in his eye that matches his wife’s. I notice sometimes they’ll look at one another with soft, tender looks. 

“How did you and Ebbe meet?” I ask. 

Ragnfridr laughs. “I’ve been a shieldmaiden my whole life. My parents were also warriors. It was the life I was brought up for. Even in my younger years, I could out-fight, out-wrestle, and out-drink most of the men”. She grins at me. “Those I couldn’t I’d let in my bed. But I’d usually best them there. I had better experiences with women”. 

“Ebbe and I met on a raid over a decade ago. He took a liking to me and tried to woo me, but I turned him down. He wasn’t willing to give up, so I challenged him to a practice duel. If I won, he was to leave me alone. If he won, I would consider him as a suitor. And he won. To this day, I don’t know how he beat me”. 

“So, you agreed to marry?”

“Not quite. I was angry at having been bested. So, I challenged him again to a wrestling match. He defeated me again. He offered me a drink as a sign of friendship between us. We ended up in a drinking game. I’ll let you guess the results”. 

“The next day, Ebbe spoke with me about our challenges. He apologized if he had insulted me. On the contrary, I was impressed. He was the only man I’d met capable of besting me more than once. I took him to my bed that night and he surprised me there, too” she winks. “He asked me to marry him, but I refused to give up my life as a warrior. He said he never expected me to do so. So, we married. We have five children and we’re very happy”. 

I smile. “That is…sweet”. 

“Ebbe is a good man. He’s never seemed threatened by my being a shieldmaiden. He’s supported me. I could not ask for better”. 

She takes a drink and nudges me. “And what of you? How did you meet your husband?” 

I grin. “I found him in the woods and brought him home with me”. 

Ragnfridr laughs. “Just like that? And I guess he hung around like a lost puppy?” 

I allow myself a smile. “Erlendur was never a puppy. More like a wary wolf”. I settle into my seat and drink before giving her the story of our meeting and eventual marriage. 

Ragnfridr interrupts me occasionally to ask questions. By the time I finish, the hearth fire has burned down to a low glow. Finally, we end all end our conversations and gather up the children to return to the house. I am beginning to think I may be able to call it home after all.


	6. The Campaign

The remainder of summer flies past. The trees shift into colors of red and gold. A cold wind begins to blow down from the north. 

We settle into a quiet, comfortable routine in our adopted home. We build friendships with Rorik and Ragnfridr and their families. The days pass more quickly than I can keep track, and soon Yule is upon us. 

I am surprised to discover that winter here along the coast is not quite the same as it was in our western valley. While it is still cold, the weather seems far milder. There is less snow, only small flurries that swirl around for a short while, but never settle. The evergreen forests to the north of the city stay bright green, the ground dissolves into mud and muck. 

One morning, a fortnight before Yule, I discover a part of the harbor has frozen over. Frost and ice lay on the ground, but no snow. The ice does not last; the sun appears from the clouds that afternoon and melts it all away. 

Rorik invites us to his hall for Yule. On the first night, as Unna reaches her fourth birthday, we gather to watch the Yule log be cut down and dragged through the streets into the great hall. 

Everyone of importance in Kaupang—and their families and followers—are gathered in the great hall. The sun has long since set as this is the longest, darkest night of the year. But here is this hall there is warmth and light, friendship and celebration, and more than enough ale, fine wheat bread, and roasted meat for all. 

Greenery is strung around the hall, wrapped around pillars and draped over the beams. Silver and gold jewelry is glinting in the torchlight. Serving women rush about with baskets of fresh bread and tankards of ale. Harp music and the chorus of laughter and conversation mixes with the scents of smoke, roasted meat, and human bodies. 

Rorik lets us sit near the high table. He has positioned himself in the center of it, on a throne-like chair draped with furs. He downs multiple horns of ale and his laughter rumbles throughout the hall. The warriors of his household and their spouses, including Ragnfridr and Ebbe, flank him on either side. 

I try to hold a conversation with the other wives at the table, but the noise is so loud I can barely hear their words. At last I give up, not to be rude, but because I can no longer stand straining my ears. My mind wanders back to the Yule celebrations we hosted at our farm. How I wish my sisters and friends were here with me now. Despite settling into our new lives, I still feel a stranger here. 

I glance up to my husband. He is over by the hearth, in conversation with some of Rorik’s warriors. One of the men says something and the whole group laughs. Nearby, two men are in a heated game of dice. 

I wonder if this sense of seclusion as a stranger is what Erlendur felt when he first arrived in our village all those years ago. I can still recall the cold wind that day Jorunn and I found him by the stream, and even now feel the harsh heat of his skin from fever. He was lucky; had we not found him, he would not have survived. 

I shove those memories away and try focus on happier times. When I was a small girl, my friends and I would play during feasts like this. We’d act out stories we’d heard of heroes and Gods. How surprised would they be now to see me sitting in an earl’s great hall by the high table? Now, though, would they even care? I have hardly had time to dwell on the thought of whether Halla and Freydis still consider me a friend. After all, my husband killed their brother. 

And I worry for my elder sister Halla. She is my sister, but she is married to Halla and Freydis’ uncle, making her their aunt by marriage. How complicated this web is! Perhaps the Gods take pleasure in twisting up our fates. 

I look over the table. Ragnfridr tosses back her head and laughs loudly at something her neighbor says to her. She catches me watching her and grins. I force a smile back, though I do not feel as joyful. 

I take a long drink of my ale. I had thought we’d made a life here. We’d met people and were comfortable. But sitting in this hall, surrounding by so many strange faces, I feel more alone than ever. At least, I knew most everyone who lived in and around the village. I am just another face here. 

Erlendur returns from the hearth and settles in the seat beside me. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks. 

I nod. I would like to confess the truth, that I am feeling rather miserable and homesick, but this not the time or place for such a conversation. And I do not want to ruin the holiday. Yule is a sensitive holiday for my husband. It was at Yule that his first wife divorced him. I believe the only thing that has made this celebration better for him is that Unna was born at midwinter, on the first day of Yule. 

“I am a bit tired” I say, though this is only partly true. “I may take the children and go home”. Even as I say the word, it feels wrong. That little hut is not really home; it is merely a place we are living. 

Erlendur gives a tilt of his head to show he heard me. “I may stay longer. Some of Rorik’s men are discussing plans for the spring campaigns. I would like to join, if I could”. 

I bite my lip. “You would leave us here? In this city where we barely know anyone?’ 

“You’ve managed well enough. And I don’t think…” 

He is interrupted as the hall doors burst open. A cold wind chills the room. A group of men move into the hall. 

Erlendur half-leaps from his seat, his hand instinctively moving to his sword hilt. Several other men do the same. 

Rorik stands and laughs. He holds him arms out in welcome for the group. As the men move to stand in front of Rorik’s high seat, I see who the intruders are. 

King Harald and his brother Halfdan stand at the front of the group, flanked by half a dozen men. I recognize the group that came to our farm months ago. Harald still looks as he did, with his long, wild hair and fierce stare. I do not think he has seen us, but Erlendur leans forward in his seat, as if prepping himself for a fight. I cautiously place my hand on his. 

By now, the hall has fallen silent, save for the snapping in the hearth as the Yule log burns. Rorik steps forward to greet the king. 

“My lord! It is wonderful to see you! Happy Yule!” 

Harald grins. “And to you, Rorik. I see you have managed the city I gave you well”. 

“Yes, my king. And I am grateful for it. Please join us in our celebrations” Rorik says. “You! Bring ale for the king and his men!” This last sentence is shouted to some servant girls. 

Rorik makes his men shift down the table, so he might sit on the end. King Harald moves to sit in Rorik’s abandoned seat. A pretty young slave girl—no more than sixteen, I guess—brings ale to the men. I notice Harald casually touch the girl’s arm as she pours his ale. He lets his hand linger fall longer than I would be comfortable with. The girl does not seem to mind, though she is probably used to the looks and grasps of men. 

Harald drinks greedily from the horn. He says something to his brother and surveys the hall. By now, the tension in the room has eased. Music and conversation have built back up to their original volume. 

“Are you alright?” I whisper to Erlendur. 

He picks at the food in front of him. “I was just surprised to see him, as was everyone. I guess he’s returned from his raids”. 

Rorik’s voice sounds from over the din. “So, my king, how was the raid? Any news worth hearing from Denmark?” 

“There is news”. It is Halfdan who finally speaks this time. “News that Ragnar Lothbrok is dead. He was killed in Northumbria this past summer”. 

Erlendur and I both freeze. Erlendur turns his face away from the high table and feigns interest in a group’s dice game. 

“Ragnar Lothbrok dead!” Rorik shouts. Another silence falls over the hall. “I would’ve thought the man invincible”. 

“No man is. We all die someday. Even the great Ragnar Lothbrok” Harald speaks with a strange sound of contempt in his voice. I wonder what issue he may have had with the late king. Perhaps jealousy? Or had he seen the Danish king as a potential rival? 

There are murmurs around the hall as people react to the news. Though I had never heard of the man before meeting Erlendur, it seems the name of Lothbrok is familiar here. 

“I have returned because I believe it is time for me to fulfill my destiny” Harald is saying. “I have let it go for too long”. 

“And what is that, my king?” Rorik seems genuinely interested. It seems he does not know of the king’s plans. 

Harald stands. “Silence! Silence! I have an announcement!” 

Conversation falters. Everyone turns to see the king. There is rustling, and everyone shifts to get a look. 

“I am King Harald of the Vestfold. I am your king. But, it is my heart’s desire that I be king not only over you good people, but of all Norway. The Gods have spoken to and my brother, Halfdan. They have given us signs. Signs to lead a great army across the land and secure Norway into a single, united kingdom!”   
A moment of silence hangs over the crowd, then a wave of comments. The whispers sound like the buzzing of bees. 

Harald lifts a hand for silence. When it falls, he speaks again. “I know that my warriors are the greatest in all the lands of our people. I am confident we will have no trouble in subduing the false, petty kings that claim lordship over the lands”. 

“Many of you know of their tyranny, their false promises. These men call themselves kings, but they are deluded. The Gods did not choose them. The Gods chose me! The petty kings control the land and treat the inferiors worse than dogs. Many of you were once under the power of another king or earl who betrayed you with their greed. They held back the treasure you rightfully earned. They failed you in battle. But I, Harald Finehair, am no such man. I swear to you all know, with the Gods as my witness, I will take control of all of Norway, and those who fight at my side will be honored with wealth, privilege, and the blessings of the Gods!” 

The crowd interrupts with cheers. Harald laughs with delight and holds his drinking horn aloft. “To a united Norway and a glorious future! Skol!” 

The toast is shouted throughout the hall. Drinking horns are raised. Arm-rings glimmer in the firelight. 

Harald surveys the cheering crowd and his gaze falls on Erlendur and I. There is no way he could not have noticed us. 

Erlendur did not cheer along with the crowd. He looks up, meets Harald’s gaze, lifts his cup in salute, and gives a firm nod. Harald returns the nod. Both men drink, their eyes never leaving one another. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The winter drags on. Harald is impatient. He orders all his men to ready themselves to leave as soon as the snows melt from mountain passes. 

Harald gets his wish. Spring returns quickly and scouts from the north report the mountain trails are clear enough for his army. Orders are sent out to all his men. Everyone is to be ready by the next full moon. 

That leaves little time to prepare. Weapons and armor must be in good order, and enough food and drink must be ready to support the troops. Feeding an army is a massive task. I join in with other wives to prepare for the trip. They tell me an army can go through two thousand pounds of bread, one thousand pounds of meat, and over two hundred gallons of beer and ale in a single day. The numbers make my head swim. I cannot grasp the amount of work it will take just to keep the men fortified. It is no wonder many men bring their wives and concubines or acquire slaves. 

These women have been on raids before. This is my first. I have always remained at home to look after the farm and the children. But now there is no farm, and I’ve made arrangements for the children to stay in Rorik’s hall (with his permission) to be cared for by his servants. 

But Erlendur does not approve the idea of my joining. “It will be dangerous” He says this to me one night as we are in our house, sitting around the hearth. Erlendur is sharping an axe. I am spinning new thread. “And if it’s not, it will be boring. You’ll be stuck in the camp the whole time while the men are out fighting”. 

“I am sure I can handle it. You know I’m more than capable of keeping myself busy”. 

“I’m aware. But it’s not like running a farm. The food has to be cooked, clothes and armor cleaned, wounds tended…” 

My laughing makes him trail off. “Erlendur, my love, you are aware I do all those things already?” I hold up my spindle to emphasize my point. 

“Yes, but…” His brows narrow together and his presses his lips into a tight line. He is frustrated with me now. “Every time I go out on a raid, I wish you were beside me. But I am more comfortable knowing you are safe at home. We’ll be fighting. And there’s a chance of the camps being attacked by our foes. I would not be able to stand anything happening to you”. 

My chest tightens as my temper suddenly flares. “I suppose you have forgotten then, how Hakon arrived when you were gone raiding? How he attacked me and killed my grandmother and burned down my home? All while you were gone. How was I safe then? And what of you? I saved your life twice. If you are injured or fall ill, what will happen to you?” 

Erlendur pauses, the whetstone hovering in his hand against the axe’s edge. “I am sorry” he says after a moment of silence. “For a moment, I did forget”. 

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to be with you”. 

My husband leans back in his chair and eyes me. “And the children?” 

It is my turn to pause in my work. “Of course, it will be hard for me to leave them. I’ve never really been apart from any of them for very long. But Geir is past a year old now and weaned. I am sure they’ll be alright. Plenty of other women leave their children behind to support their husbands”. 

Erlendur goes back to sharpening the axe. “If it is what you want to do, I won’t stop you”. 

I grin. “You couldn’t if you tried”. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A horn awakens me. It is still dark out. I force myself from my warm bed and build the hearth fire to life. I dress in a simple blue woolen gown, comfortable for traveling. I fasten a light belt around my hips with my small knife for herbs and a pouch for everyday items. I pull on a sturdy pair of boots for riding and braid my hair down my back. 

Erlendur and the children are awake now as well. I prepare some loaves and warm ale while they dress. Erlendur pulls on trousers and boots, and fastens his heavy leather armor over his tunic. He ties his hair back from his face and hangs his sword and dagger from a belt around his hips. His round shield is slung over his back. 

“We have to leave soon” he says, glancing out the window. It is nearly dawn. 

“Breakfast first” I insist, holding out some fresh bread to him. We eat quickly and Erlendur goes to saddle the horses while I finish getting the children ready. I am surprised, when Erlendur returns to the house and holds something out to me. 

“If you are going on this campaign with me, promise you will at least wear this”. 

It is a leather jerkin, smaller and lighter than his own. I am no shieldmaiden and have never worn armor before. 

I hesitate. “Are you sure? I doubt I will need it”. 

Erlendur holds the armor out to me again. His answer is clear. 

I take the jerkin and pull it on over my dress. It is long enough to reach my thighs, but otherwise fits well. wonder where Erlendur got it. He helps me to fasten it. It feels odd, and somewhat heavy over my chest, but it is not entirely unpleasant. 

“It is no wonder Freydis likes wearing her armor. I feel strangely…powerful”. 

Erlendur scoffs, almost a laugh. “It feels good until you take a hit”. 

I tug nervously at the armor. The empowering feeling I felt just a moment ago fades and turns to awkwardness. I think it is silly for me to wear armor when I had no need of it, but I am not going to argue with my husband. He can be so stubborn when he wants and it is too early in the morning for such things. 

The sky is slowly turning light as we make our way to the great hall. The streets are crowed despite the early morning. Stable boys lead saddled horses and we pass men and women in full battle dress. 

“Brynja!” Ragnfridr is standing at the entrance to the hall. She waves to us over the din of the crowd. She is in armor, her hair braided off her face. A long sword hangs from her belt. A fur-trimmed cloak wraps around her muscled shoulders. 

We hurry over to join them. Ragnfridr catches sight of my jerkin and gives me a wink. My cheeks feel warm and I do not meet her gaze. I cannot tell if she is approving or laughing. 

Inside, the hearth is lit. Torches along the walls cast shadows into the corners. Ebbe, Ragnfridr’s husband, Rorik and a few others are gathered around the hearth. Erlendur and Ari go to join them while I help some other wives gather food into packs. 

Erlendur and I take a moment to say goodbye to the children. Ari and Unna are old enough now to understand we are going away. Though, neither of them knows why I am joining their father. My heart aches as I hug and kiss them. 

I love my children. I would give my life for them. It pains me already to leave them behind. But I feel in my heart joining Erlendur is the right thing for me to do now. We finish our goodbyes and I say a silent prayer for them to be kept safe and well, and that we might see them again. 

Another horn sounds from outside. Harald, Halfdan, and their retinue swarm into the hall. Harald goes directly over to Rorik and greets him. The men stand around the hearth discussing their plans and the best route to take through the country. 

Harald enters the room with his entourage. Men shout greetings and hit their shields in acknowledgement. Harald stands in front of the high seat. 

“Today is a great day. It is the day our campaign begins. It is this day we begin the God’s plans to unite the kingdoms of Norway. Let us call upon the Gods for their blessing!” 

In the yard in front of the hall, a large white goat is tethered. I am grateful Unna is inside. She would most likely cry and make a fuss over the death of a goat. 

“Odin!” Harald screams, his arms outstretched, his head thrown back to the sky. “All-Father! Hear us! Accept this sacrifice we offer to you, that we may have safe travels and good fortune in battle!” 

Harald takes the massive knife, and in a swift single movement, slits the animals throat. The beast falls to its knees, its blood spilling out into the dirt. 

Another horn is blow against the gathering light. There is a great commotion as everyone gathers up their packs and mounts horses. Dust is kicked up by the dozens of hooves. 

I am amazed at the large company. Rorik has provided over one hundred men and Harald’s own crews are more than double that. There are several other earls along with him. I estimate at least five hundred warriors, plus wives like myself, and slaves make up our assembly. 

We’ll be heading north and west through the mountainous country and valleys. I am grateful we have horses. I would not want to be one of those forced to walk, like the lower ranked men-at-arms and slaves. 

With the sun rising in the east, our retinue flows out the north gate. Standards are borne over the heads of each leader. A blood-red flag with a wolf flies over the heads of the king and his brother. A green flag with a bear snaps in the breeze at Rorik’s side. 

Erlendur and I ride side by side, following Rorik’s banner. It is strange that we are not sworn to anyone here, yet are still included. I do not know then, where Erlendur’s place in this army’s hierarchy is. Or whether he has any place at all. I am not sure Harald is aware of Erlendur’s status as a late king’s son. I doubt he would care. 

There is a custom, I’ve heard, that when men of royal blood go on raids, they are given the title of king by their troops, even though they may have neither land nor kingdom. I doubt Erlendur was ever given this courtesy, and I am certain Harald would not stand for it now. 

As the sun rises into the sun, the air warms. It is a beautiful day in early spring, and a fine day for travel. The sun is just arm enough I do not need my cloak, though I have our cloaks and a spare each tied behind our saddles. 

We travel as lightly as we possibly can. Food and grain for the horses is tied on top of our packs alongside our cloaks. I have a two extra clean dresses and aprons, in simple fabric for traveling and camping, as well as undergarments, and a spare pair of shoes. A bronze mirror and wooden comb are included in the pack, as well as spare linen and herbs for healing, and my spindle. 

We move along at a steady pace, heading north. Progress slows when we reach the woods and the path narrows to just enough room for two horses or four walking men side by side. 

I look back over my shoulder at the troops behind us. Harald’s army is so large I cannot see where it ends. 

The whole army moves steadily throughout the day, pausing only briefly at midday for food and to water the horses. If Harald pushes his army at this rate the whole campaign, he’ll have Norway conquered in months. 

We stop for the night outside the woods in a rocky field. The ground is rough and it is slow-going to set up camp. I am exhausted after a whole day in the saddle. As I move about helping to care for the horses, pitch tents, and prepare an evening me, I question whether I should have come at all. After only one day, I am already weary. 

By the time night-camp is set, the sun has slipped below the horizon. Dark red streaks cross the sky as it disappears. The moon, already risen over the mountains, is full so there is still plenty of light. 

Inside out tent, I wrap myself in my blanket and try to sleep. Despite how tired I am from the long day, my mind will not rest. Erlendur has not yet come to bed. I can hear his voice outside as he sits around the fire with some others. 

Laughter drifts in from outside. I feel a sharp pang of loneliness that surprises me. We do not know many people here, but Erlendur is at least able to bound with the other men, as they have the same experiences in raiding and war. I have made friends with Ragnfridr, yet she is a shieldmaiden and far older than I. I feel this makes it difficult for me to relate to her. There are plenty of other women here who are wives or concubines, yet are not shieldmaidens. I’ve worked alongside some of them, but I do not know any of them well enough to call them friends. 

Erlendur slips into the tent. I hear him in the dark, getting ready for bed. I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and feign sleep. I miss my sisters. I miss my friends, if I may still call them that. I’ve always grown up knowing who I was and where I belong, but I no longer feel that way. My husband is lying right next to me. I want to take a moment to confess to anguish, to feel some relief over it. But I lay still in the dark tent, and feel alone.


	7. The First Kingdoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is a darker chapter. Some violence, possibly graphic, plus angst, and death, including loss of children.

Our army moves through the countryside, but there is little opposition. The mere presence of hundreds of armed men and the threat of war is enough to make most people crumble. We head northwards up through the valleys, then cross north through fielded land. 

Harald is ruthless. At every village we pass through, all the men are slaughtered, the women and children captured as slaves. Entire villages are ransacked, raided for their goods and treasures, then put to the torch. Scores of people flee, screaming, with what little they can carry. They head deeper into the country or flee into the woods. Only those who surrender and pledge themselves to the king’s cause are showed any mercy. 

With hardly an effort, the small kingdom of Grener falls. Just a few days into the campaign, our troops enter the king’s village. It can hardly be called a village. It is a small, muddy hole; a disgusting backwater. The people are poor, dressed in ragged clothing. These people hail Harald as a savior, if only to spare themselves. It seems their own overlord is no better. 

The petty king, an overweight, rather pathetic-looking man is dragged from his hall. I do not catch the man’s name, but he weeps and begs for mercy. There is no fight in this man. Harald personally takes his sword and slices off the man’s head. It is fastened onto a spearhead and placed at the entrance to the village, a warning to all of what might be expected. The body is tossed to the dogs. 

We continue northward. It seems word has spread of the army and any chance of surprise it lost. As we pass through the villages, many turn out to be abandoned. The men scavenge them anyway for what food and supplies can be garnished. Then, they are burned. A long swirl of black smoke trails behind us. Harald intends to unite this land, but he weaves it together with blood and ashes. 

I remain in the camp as we travel, spared witnessing the worst of the destruction. I am not bored, as Erlendur said I would be, as I try to keep myself occupied. Clothes must be wash and mended, food preserved and cooked, herbs must be gathered, and poultices prepared. I find enough to keep myself busy during the day. 

Erlendur fills me in on the details at night between dinner and sleep. Some nights, Erlendur returned blood-soaked and triumphant after a day of pillaging. The other men seem to have a contagious effect on him. He joins in with all the looting, burning, and celebratory drinking with delight. 

Battle leaves him with a wild high. When the troops ride back in after a pillage, brandishing severed heads as trophies, they cast as debauched spell on the camp. It is common to see men drinking and singing war songs around the fire, but also to caress the slave girls and captured women. Some engage in intercourse right out in the open. More than a few nights are interrupted by screams and cries of these defenseless women. I feel a pang of sympathy for them, with no protection against the contempt of baser men. 

Erlendur, at least, is loyal enough. I feel a flash of jealous anger when I catch him eyeing a slave girl one night while inhibited with ale and battle-highs. At least, he keeps his hands, and other parts of his body, to himself, and reserves his passions for me at night in our tent. 

I cannot deny I enjoy our couplings. I get an odd sense of pleasure from escaping the mundane. Most often, our lovemaking is reserved to our bed at home. It is somehow different to do it in a tent, with only some wool fabric dividing our bodies and cries from the sight and hearing of others. There is enough going on in the camp though, that I don’t suspect one more couple to be noticed. 

Erlendur comes to me one night as I am clearing up after dinner. Yet another village was raided. The men return bearing food rations and the scent of blood, sweat, and sex. Erlendur is in a good mood. 

“I’ve brought you something”. He comes to where I am storing away the clean utensils. It is getting dark out. Dusk leaves a gray shroud on the world; it balances between the reds and pinks of the setting sun, and the darkness of approaching night. In the light of dozens of fires, I see something glimmer in his hand. 

I reach out and take it from him. It is a silver brooch, round and covered in an intricate woven design. “Thank you” I tell him. I try not to think that this gift may have come from someone’s hoard, or worse, off someone’s body. I force a smile and fasten it onto the front of my dress. 

Erlendur looks pleased enough. He has a horn of ale and he tosses it back to empty it. I filled it for him twice at dinner. 

He leans forward to kiss my cheek and neck. “Today was good” he murmurs against my skin. “Want to celebrate?” 

I am tired from a long day of work. I try to tell him so, but Erlendur continues to kiss me. 

“Please?” He pulls me into his arms. 

I sigh and kiss him back. Sometimes, being a good partner means making sacrifices for them. And a part of me does want to lie with him. 

He starts to pull down onto the ground and begins to unfasten the brooches that hold my apron. 

“What are you doing?” I ask in alarm. 

Erlendur frowns. “Making love to you? Or do you want to leave your clothes on?” 

“Out in the open?” I look around nervously. “Anyone could see us!” It is one thing to make love in the semi-privacy of our tent, but quite another to be exposed out here. 

“So?” Erlendur pulls at my apron in encouragement. The cloth falls away and he tries to undo the fastenings on my dress. 

I push his hands away. “I am not comfortable with this. I’m not a whore to just be taken at your pleasure”. 

Erlendur lets go this time, but the frown on his face remains. “Of course not. You are my wife. But it’s dark out. No one can see us. I want you to let go a little. Be spontaneous for once”. 

I pull at my dress, keeping it from falling away, and fold my arms over my torso. “No. I don’t want to. I’m not comfortable with it and I think you ought to respect that. You used to”. 

My husband sighs, but he sounds more frustrated than resigned. “Fine, we’ll go back into the tent. In the dark. Where no one can see us and we’ll do the same thing we always do”. There is a bitterness in his voice. 

I feel a little guilty then. Erlendur wants me to be spontaneous. And I wish I could. But it has always been against my nature. I’ve always been shy and concerned with how others have seen me. My sister Jorunn once, in the middle of an argument, called me uptight and prudish. She was right. And now I feel like a guilty wife for denying my husband, though I know I’ve no reason to. I am just as entitled to be respected by him as he is to me. 

I swallow against my nervousness and reach up to undo the fastenings on my dress. I let the cloth drop down my torso. The cool night air touches my bare breasts and causes gooseflesh to form on my arms. I shiver, both from cold and anticipation. I do not think I’ve been this nervous over sex since our wedding night. 

I force myself against the urge to cover up with my arms. “Alright” I say. “We’ll do it as you want, at least this time”. 

By now the light has faded to almost nothing. A little way away there is fire and a waning moon hangs in the sky. I can just make out Erlendur’s features. He seems surprised, but then a playful, wolfish grin appears on his face. He leans forward to kiss me, gently laying me down on the ground. The grass feels cool beneath me. 

I shiver as he slips the rest of my clothing away. He leans over me and we make love outside. But I cannot bring myself to enjoy it. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

A few days later, we cross into a land called Orkendal. It is beautiful country. Evergreen forest drape over the mountains like an emerald colored cloak. Wide rivers cut through the rocks. 

The sky is a clear, bright blue, with not a cloud in sight. A warm breeze blows through the trees. We are well into the spring season now. Back at the farm, our father has likely finished the lambing, and the fields have been plowed and planted. 

It pains me a little to recall Jorunn’s wedding is happening and I cannot be there to witness it. But Erik seemed a good, kind man. I’m sure they’ll be happy together. If I get a moment to myself, I will burn some herbs in offering to the Gods and send a prayer for their good fortune. After everything Jorunn has gone through, I am happy to know she’ll finally be wed. This summer will mark a full year of Erlendur’s exile. Only two more after that and then we can return home. Perhaps when we do, we’ll be greeted by little nieces and nephews. 

We’ve paused that afternoon for a brief respite to rest and water the horses. Scouts ride out in different directions to scour the land for villages. I lead my horse to the stream to drink, then loosen the girth and remove the bit so she might graze in comfort. I leave her tethered with some other horses and go to help grind flour for bread. 

I was surprised to realize how many men brought their wives with them. And many other women have been acquired along the way as slaves and concubines. We work together, grinding flour, building fires, and baking bread for a midday meal. 

I find myself working next to a couple of young women around my age. Both are dark haired, as I am. Between the similarity between them, I wonder if they as related. I ask this of them as we lay flatbread out to bake. 

One of the women laughs. “Oh, no. We’ve only just met ourselves. Our husbands are both serving under the same earl. But you are not the first to ask. I’m Yngveld” the woman says. 

“And I am Ingunn, wife of Ketil” says the other. 

“My name is Brynja”.   
The three of us chat as we work. Yngveld’s husband is a farmer, but was rallied into fighting with his earl’s men. He joined in hopes of gaining treasure to afford more land. They have a little son at home, just two years old. 

Ingunn is slightly younger than us, at nineteen. She explains she was married young and already widowed. She remarried to Ketil, a young warrior in Harald’s ranks. They have no children, though she hopes to change that soon. 

I tell a little about Erlendur and my children, but avoid giving away too much. These women seem friendly enough. We all laugh about the similarities in looks between us, and joke that we might pass off as sisters if we wanted. It is nice to have some people to talk to and have things in common with. I am relived to make friends with some women who are not shieldmaidens. I feel I may relate to them more. 

Our conversation is interrupted by the returning of a scout from the north. He is a young man, hardly bearded, and mounted on a chestnut stallion. 

“A crowd of people has assembled. They’ve accumulated an army, led by King Gryting. They are marching in our direction”. 

His words send ripples through the camp. Harald shouts for silence and speaks directly to the scout. 

“How many men? And how soon do they expect to reach us?” 

The scout looks unsure. “A few hundred men, maybe more. At the pace they’re moving they’ll be on us within a few hours, I’d guess”. 

Harald laughs. He clasps his hands together and rubs them furiously. “At last, a real fight! Get the men ready! We’re going into battle!” 

The camp breaks into chaos. Warriors hurry to put on armor and grab weapons. 

In our tent, I find Erlendur fastening on his leather tunic. I help him put on his leather bracers over his forearms. He knots his sword belt around his waist and checks the sharpness of his sword. He grabs his shield and slings it over his shoulder. 

I am both surprised and impressed with the efficiency of such a large group. Within moments, it seems, everyone is ready. We break camp and mount up in the direction of battle. 

We meet our attackers under a bright afternoon sun. The warriors go to line up for battle. I join the women and servants on a rocky outcrop. We are safely out of the way of the battle, but can see. Women would sometimes accompany men to the battle sites, where magic might be used to help influence the battle and protect the men. And if need be, the women would goad the men into fighting harder. After all, whichever side lost would also lose their womenfolk to their opponents.   
The last time I’ve seen a real battle was when we engaged Hakon years ago. That was hardly anything compared to this. Each group was encompassed of several dozen men, but here there are hundreds on each side. 

Horns blow, their sound echoing through the mountains. The men assemble under their respective banners and form the shield-wall. Harald’s men are in the center, Rorik’s to his left. I cannot tell where Erlendur is in the massive group. I guess him to be with Rorik’s men. Ragnfridr and Ebbe are likely in the same place. 

Opposite our troops, I see another army. They are shouting at us, insults most likely, but I cannot hear what is being said. Their round shields are yellow and black, some are brown and blue. Both sides strike their weapons against their shields. The noise is deafening. It rumbles like thunder. 

Sunlight glints off weapons and armor. I hear birds calling from the woods behind where we women are located. A flock of them flies up from the trees, frightened away by the noise. Crows and ravens will gather later to dine on the dead. Far past the opposing troops, I see smoke rising into the air. That must be their village. 

There is a moment of silence, a terrifying calm, as both armies cease their shouting and banging. Then, the horns sound again and each army lurches forward. 

I watch as the men ease forward, so slowly it seems. Their shields are wedged tightly together, and of course, the wall cannot be maintained if they are all running. Archers on our opponent’s side loosen a stream of arrows. Shields come up, covering the men within range. 

We inch closer, sending our own volley of arrows and spears. I see Harald’s banner in the center, waving proudly. 

Finally, the shield-walls meet. Men hack at one another, pushing forward for each man that falls. The noise of iron on wood is grating. 

I do not know how long the battle drags on for I cannot be bothered to check the sun. But the other men seem to be advancing on us. I bite my lip with worry. It is not impossible this smaller army could defeat us, after all, when we fought Hakon our troops were half his and still we gained victory. 

I begin to worry as our men retreat backwards. Gryting’s men are eager; they rush forward in pursuit. But then I see more of Harald’s troops rushing forward. Harald had lured them into a trap. He let them think we were retreating but instead lured them in. Now, our much larger army has surrounded them, and the blood bath begins. 

A feast for the crows is piling up as one man after another fall. Swords and axes are chopping, men are screaming, and the ground turns red with blood. 

King Gryting’s army is massacred. Harald has his first victory. 

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Harald proved his skill as a commander today. Our men killed most of the army, but not all. Many surviving men were captured. Those with severe wounds were put to the sword. The rest were rounded up as slaves. Harald would send them back to Kaupang, and have them shipped to lands overseas where foreigners would pay a high price of silver. 

And when victory was secured, Harald pushed his troops forward into the villages. There, they looted. More women were captured, the petty king’s hall was seized, and our troops moved to settle there for the night. 

King Gryting was not fortunate enough to die alongside his men on the battlefield. He was captured, stripped down to his bare clothes, and marched through the streets. A rope wrapped around his neck like a dog’s leash. 

I have that night free, as there are more than enough slaves to do the work. A feast is prepared. Harald sits at the high table in Gryting’s hall, surrounded by his earls. The former petty king is tied to a post, forced to watch in humiliation as his enemy occupies his seat. 

I find Erlendur inside the hall, still in his armor, washing blood off his face. 

“Are you hurt?” I ask. 

Erlendur wipes his face with a strip of linen and shakes his head. “No, but I am starving”. 

We settle ourselves at a table. I make plates for both of us. Erlendur was not joking. He downs a roasted goose leg, even gnawing at the bone, half a loaf of bread, and a tankard of ale. Then, he fills his plate back up with pork, the remaining half-loaf, and a hunk of cheese. I pour more ale. 

All around is celebration at Harald’s first victory. Men are getting drunk, and breaking out into drunken wrestling matches. The women of Gryting’s hall are taken and given to the king as slaves. Harald and Halfdan each select one of the women and has her sent to pleasure him tonight. 

Gryting is dragged into the center of the hall. He is a large man, though much of that is belly from ale and food. His hair is tangled and brown streaked with gray. Any fight in him is gone. I know he is about to die and I pity him. 

Some of Harald’s men drunkenly force him into a fight. They beat at him, laughing. Then, they slice his belly open, leaving his innards to spill on the floor. 

I grimace with disgust at the display. I am suddenly nauseous. I have only managed to eat a little bread, cheese, and ale tonight. I shove the rest of my food away. My appetite is gone. 

The petty king takes a while to die, screaming in agony on the floor. The others all laugh and piss on his twitching body. I must look away. 

“He did not die well,” Erlendur comments. He has no problem eating and drinking during the spectacle. “He should not have been a king”. 

“Well, now he is nothing but a corpse” I mutter. I force myself to take a drink, hoping to steady myself. 

Harald stands shouting for silence. “My friends and allies, I thank you all for your efforts. Today, we defeated one of the vile pretenders, and we are a step closer to unity”. 

Shouts go up in response to his words. I cannot bring myself to join in. I feel sickened by all of this.   
…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I cannot hold my anger in forever. I speak up to Erlendur that night as we ready ourselves to sleep. We’ve taken refuge for the night in one of the houses seized. 

“So, this is how Harald intends to unite the people? By slaughtering all those who oppose him? This is not the work of a great leader; it is fitting for a bloodthirsty tyrant”. 

“I would not say such things around here, Brynja” Erlendur whispers furiously. “Not even if it is the truth. Do you want him to turn on us?” 

I pause from combing out my hair. “Why are you being such a coward? Why does no one stand up to him? Gryting was the only one so far who tried!”

Erlendur yanks off his shirt and turns around to face me. “Yes, and look what happened to him. Captured, humiliated, and slaughtered like a pig. That is the fate that awaits those who get in Harald’s way. Do you understand? Do you want to be next? To have me killed the same way as Gryting, to have our children slaughtered or enslaved? And you would likely be kept as a trophy, whored out to the king and his men. If you were lucky he’d kill you with the rest of us. Is that what you want?” He takes a deep breath after his rant. His eyes are filled with anger and fear. 

Tears are flowing freely down my face now. His words feel like a knife to the heart. “No” I choke out. “Of course not. But…it does not feel right to me. Harald claims he’ll bring unity to Norway, but so far all he’s done is bring war and destruction. How can men follow him?” 

“Because,” Erlendur crouches down in front of me and licks at his lips. The anger that possessed him a moment ago seems to have passed. Now he only appears nervous. 

“Because, most men are just trying to survive. They want to live their lives, harvest their crops, and raise their families. And it is often easier to just support whoever is in power than to fight them, especially when it seems there is no way of success. I know it is not the most honorable way, but you and I both know that selfless heroes only exist in stories. Here, we are all just mortal men”. 

He continues in a soft, pained tone. “For kings, it is all about staying in power. It is not unusual for kings to turn on their own allies if they feel they are becoming a threat. It is every man for himself. We live in a dark world. And you are so good and kind; I know how painful it must be for you to see this. But this is how the world is. I have already lost one family. Please, I don’t wish to lose another. You are entitled to what opinions you have about Harald and his method of leadership, but for our family’s sake, keep them to yourself”. 

Erlendur’s words make sense. I would never want to endanger my family. But Erlendur was quick to act in my own defense when I was threatened. But when our whole land is, he will side with it’s oppressor? 

“You have a great deal of nerve” I snap, swiping at tears that streak my cheeks. 

“What are you talking about?” Erlendur says gruffly. He stands up and turns his back to me, changing out of his clothes. 

I drag my comb through my dark hair, wincing as I hit a snarl. “You are being such a coward. The man I married would not have stood for such things. He fought for his family and honor. Or are you only you only willing to partake in a fight you know you can win?” 

Erlendur turns back around to face me. He reaches out and grasps both my arms. My comb drops from my hand. His grip is tight, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of my upper arms. I squirm against his hold. His hands do not ease their pressure. 

“Yes, Brynja, that is often how battles go” he sneers at me in contempt. “A wise commander only partakes in a battle he’s sure he can win. Anything else is a death sentence. I’m trying to avoid that. What else do I have to say to make you understand?!” His voice turns into a growl. 

“You’re hurting my arms” I respond stubbornly. 

Erlendur removes his hands. White marks where his fingers were linger on my skin a moment, then vanish, as if he never touched me at all. I can still feel the press of his hand hovering over my bare skin. I wrap my arms around my torso and rub the spots he held. 

Erlendur makes a noise of disgust in his throat. “You know nothing of battle or commanding men. I would not expect you to understand any of this”. 

It is my turn to sneer. After seeing my husband do it so many times, I think I am becoming quite good at replicating it. “Because I am a woman? Just a silly little wife who cooks and cleans and cares for the children? Is that all I am to you anymore? You think I’m too stupid?” 

“That is not what I meant. But you refuse to grasp the fact that I cannot go against Harald. He would destroy us in a heartbeat. I am trying to protect our family!” 

“Just as you protected us when you murdered Gorm and were ready to flee the moment you were to be punished! You would have left us all behind to the mercy of the villagers to save your own hide!” 

“How dare you!” Erlendur hisses like a snake, his voice filled with venom. He leans forward, his face a hair’s breath from mine. “I was trying to spare you the pain. But you walked into exile with me! Have you been happy this past year? Hmm? I could have gone away for a while, and come back, and we could have lived out our lives in peace. You were the one who dragged the family out! You insisted on coming! If you are miserable, it is your own fault!” 

I stand up, enraged. I am shaking at his words. “When did I say I was miserable? But yes, I insisted! Because we are a family and I intended for us to stay together! How difficult is that for you to grasp? But you would have abandoned us. I guess you are not enough of a man to support your own family.” 

Erlendur raises him arm, his hand flat out as if to strike. Instinctively, I flinch and turn my head. The tension hovers around us. I immediately regret my last words. It is one thing to be angry with my husband, it is quite another to insult his honor by implying he is an incapable husband and father. And I know it is not true. He has been an excellent father, loving if not stern. And up until this moment, I have never questioned his love for me. 

I brace myself for the stinging pain. Hakon once struck me in the face before, when he burned the old farm, but Erlendur has never laid a hand on me in anger. 

“You see?” He chokes on his words. A lump is building up in his throat. “This is what I was afraid of. You remember? I told you I didn’t treat…” His voice breaks a little. 

I remember, long ago, Erlendur had been afraid to confess his true feelings for me. Afraid that he would fail to treat me as I deserve, that he would treat me badly, as his confessed he did to his first wife. “Did you hit her, too? Is this only how you reacted when you found out she betrayed you or was it always? Was it only a matter of time before you turned on me?” 

Erlendur knows exactly who I mean. He slowly lowers his arm. He does not speak, but the look on his face, the truth he cannot deny, is enough. 

I snatch up my cloak and make for the door. I glance back at him in the doorway. “It seems in addition to marrying a coward, I’ve married a monster as well”. 

Then, I wrap my cloak about my shoulders and slip out into the night. I think I hear sobs coming from the building behind me. 

…………………………………………………………………………………

Erlendur and I rarely fight, but can be vicious when we do. We are both stubborn. 

The army only stays in Gryting’s village for a few days to recuperate after the battle. Then, we are off again. Our direction veers northwest, heading deeper into central Norway. Our numbers are lessened somewhat from the dead and wounded. But it is not for long. 

Three days after we set out again, we encounter an Earl called Grjotgard. He surrenders himself to Harald’s service and joins our ranks with over one hundred warriors. 

Harald has skalds traveling in his army, to capture all the events. He sends some of them out to compose poems of his deeds and spread the news of his victories. Grjotard was wise enough to be spared. 

I wish I might say my marriage was going as well as Harald’s campaign. The night we argued, I slipped out of the house and wandered through the streets of the dark village. Thankfully, I was left alone with my pain and thoughts. I sat out by the ramparts for a long while, my cloak wrapped around me, and stared up at the moon. I let tears fall silently down my face, but did not bother to wipe them away. When I finally returned to the house and crawled into bed, Erlendur was already asleep. 

It has almost a week since then. We’ve barely said a word to each other. I am shaken that Erlendur was angry enough to nearly strike me. An I feel so conflicted. I know he is right that he cannot oppose Harald. And I would never wish for harm to come to my children. But in my heart, it feels so wrong to let this tyrant take control. Everyone gloats about what a great king Harald is, but I see nothing but a bloodthirsty, warmongering conqueror. 

Two more weeks pass this way, with Erlendur and I exchanging no more than brief good nights. It pains me to lie next to him at night, yet feel so separated. It would be the right thing to apologize for my own stubbornness and acknowledge the points he had, but my pride prevents me. And I’d rather he apologizes first for hurting me. 

But greater problems loom on the horizon. They come in the form of a second army. This time, it is two kings allied together. They seem convinced their combined forces will be enough to defeat Harald. 

Both armies meet in a great battle. I am not there to see it, choosing to remain in the camp with some other women and await the men’s return. Everyone is confident Harald will be victorious. 

That afternoon’s comfortable routine is broken by the noise of horse’s hooves pounding on the earth We all look up to see dozens of men riding towards our camp. I do not recognize the shields or banners they carry, but I am certain they are not our men. 

Screams fill the air as the horsemen advance on us. Weapons out, they slaughter anyone who gets in their way. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight. 

Yngveld is just feet away from me. Arrows are loosened in our direction and she does not even have time to scream. An arrow strikes the center of her chest. She drops the ground. 

I stare in horror. I cannot look away. I want to scream, I open my mouth to do so, but my voice is gone. By some stroke of luck, I was not hit. Of course, the leather jerkin Erlendur had given me remains in my tent, along with my knife. 

Terrified, I turn and run towards the woods. I am not the only one to do so. The thick trees are the only hope of cover we have. I lift my skirts and run. We’ve no hope of defending ourselves. Fleeing and hiding is the only choice we have. 

I am nearly to tree cover when a woman in front of me is struck down. Ingunn falls on the ground. Her head was split open by the axe. The blow was so forceful it nearly cleaved her skull in two and almost severed it from her body. She is dead. Blood and brains soak into the grass. 

Her killer does not notice me fleeing past him. I keep running, even as I reach the trees. I feel like such a coward, but it is all I can do. Run, run, run. 

I finally stop running, out of breath. I start to shake violently. My heart is pounding, and I fear I will pass out. I try to breathe, in and out. Nausea grips me. I stumble behind a tree and vomit. I drop to my knees, heaving the contents of my stomach until there is nothing left. I gasp and struggle to get to my feet. 

My head is spinning. I stagger deeper into the woods with the other women, desperate to escape our attackers. Thankfully, they are not interested in pursuing us through the thick trees. 

I collapse onto the group, unaware of where I am. Sunlight streams thorough the treetops and pains me. I shut my eyes and focus on breathing and staying conscious. 

“Are you alright?” The voice comes from above me. 

I take a breath and force my eyes open. Another woman is leaning over me. She is older than, in her thirties I suspect. Her blond hair is pulled back at the base of her neck and covered by a scarf. Sweat covers her brow. Her pale blue eyes look down on me with concern. 

“I…I’m…” I try to speak, but start to shake again. There is a painful feeling in my abdomen. It must be from the vomiting. 

“I’m Hlardgerd” the woman says gently. “Can you still up? Are you hurt?” 

I shake my head no, but stop as it makes me dizzy. The pain in my abdomen worsens. I want to sit up, but it hurts to move. 

“She’s bleeding” someone says from above me. 

I feel a warm liquid on my thighs. With a groan, I force myself to sit up. I reach underneath my skirts. The pain worsens. As I pull my hand away, it is covered in blood, partially clotted. I hear some gasps. 

“You’re losing a child, poor girl” Hlardgerd says. She strokes at my hair with motherly affection. 

“No, it’s probably just her cycle” another woman insists.

Hlardgerd shakes her head. “My poor sister suffered three of them. I know what it looks like. Don’t worry, dear, we’ll take care of you”. 

“I’m…I’m not” I want to speak but the pain is terrible. The cramping is very much like the contractions I would feel in labor. 

I close my eyes and the bodies of Yngveld and Ingunn float in front of them. The smell of blood is overpowering. I think I hear screaming coming from the camp, but I am not sure. 

A great deal of blood is coming out from between my legs. I fall back onto the earth and curl up, clutching my stomach. I am not aware of anything anymore save for the pain and the stench of blood. 

I somehow end up back at the camp, curled up among the furs in our tent. I’ve no recollection of being brought back. I feel so numb and cold. If I saw the horrors of the camp in its aftermath, I was not aware of it. 

Hlardgerd is kind. She takes the time to tend to me, though I am a stranger. Surely there are others in need of her attention. 

“Here, to help with the blood”. She wraps linen rags around my legs and waist. 

“And drink this”. She holds a cup out to me. 

I obey and grimace. It is an infusion of ale with herbs. I try to hand the cup back. 

“Drink it all. It will help with the pain. It is all that can be done”. 

I nod weakly. “Thank you”. 

Hlardgerd wipes at the blood on my thighs. “You never told me your name, dear”. 

I force down another swallow of the infusion. “It’s Brynja”. 

“Was…was it your first?” my companion asks gently. 

“My first?”

“First child”. 

I shake my head. “I have three children at home”. 

I cannot believe I could have been with child! Surely, I would have realized it. I have had three children already; I know the signs. I recognized I was pregnant with Ari within a month of conceiving him. 

And yet…I try to think back. It has been weeks since my last period. With all the traveling we’ve down, I’ve lost count of the time. And Erlendur and I have still lain together. It is not impossible I’d conceived again without realizing. And if I was not too far along, it’s possible the signs simply had not been obvious. 

I’ve been so tired and nauseous lately. But I attributed it to all the work and travel and the sight of all the horrors of this campaign. 

I feel I should not be sad over this baby I didn’t even realize existed, but my heart hurts all the same. What will I tell Erlendur?

“Are the men back yet?” My voice does not sound like my own. 

The words are hardly from my mouth when the tent flap is pulled open. Erlendur is standing there. He is pale. His hair is a mess and blood is smeared on his face and hands. We look at one another in silence. I hardly notice as Hlardgerd excuses herself and slips out. 

I do not know what to say, or if he has been told what happened. But the bloody rags between my legs cannot leave too much doubt. 

Without warning, an overwhelming sadness consumes me. The anger I felt at Erlendur from our argument, the terror of today, and the pain of shock of my loss are all too much. I burst into tears. 

Erlendur says nothing but wraps his arms around me. I lean my head into his shoulder and let him stroke my hair as I weep. We stay like that for a long time. 

I am sick of war and destruction and death. I just want to go home.


	8. Hel's Visit

I am not sure how long I stay with my face pressed into Erlendur’s shoulders, my tears soaking his shirt. But beneath my anguish, anger is building up inside me. In an instant, my grief turns to rage. 

I shove him away roughly. “This is your fault!” I spit at him, leaning out of his grasp.

Erlendur looks at me, agape. “My fault? It was no one’s fault. The Gods…”

I cut him off with a wave up my hand. “No, this is your fault”. My voice does not sound like my own, it is hoarse from my tears. “You were the one who insisted on lying with me. You got me with child. And now I’ve lost it. Your lack of respect for me has caused me pain. You’ve no idea how much it hurts!” 

I have been kneeling on the floor of the tent this whole time. Now I shift around so my back is to him. 

“Brynja,” Erlendur’s voice comes from behind me. “I do respect you. I love you. Surely you know that?” 

I shake my head, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know anything about you anymore. I don’t know the man you’ve been on this campaign, but it is not my husband”. 

He begins to say something else, but I cut him off again. “Leave me alone!” My voice becomes a screech. “Go away and leave me alone! I want nothing to do with you”. 

I hear shifting and the tent flap being pulled aside. I glance back over my shoulder. Erlendur has left. Through the thin gap between the tent flaps, I see him crouched on the ground, doubled over, as if in pain. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

I remain inside until night falls. I have washed away the blood and changed into a clean dress and shawl. I try to comb out my hair as Asta used to do for me when I was an upset child. I had always found it comforting then. But it is not so now. 

Outside the tent, a low fire is burning. A pot of stew hangs over it, simmering. The scent of the meat and vegetables makes my stomach rumble. I cannot recall eating anything since breakfast this morning. That was so long ago. I sit on a low stool by the fire, enjoying its warmth against the cool night air. 

The camp is quiet. In addition to the crackling of the fire beside me, there are bird and insect noises. I can hear a stream nearby. Around me are other fires, with groups of people talking, eating, and laughing. Despite the battle and terrible attack today, they all seem to be in good humors. It sounds that Harald gained another victory. 

I wrap my shawl around myself and stare into the coals. So much has happened this day that I cannot make sense of it all. 

I do not realize someone has approached me until they are at my side. I see a figure from the corner of my eye. I glance up to see Hlardgerd standing over me. In the faded light of dusk, I can only see the half of her face that is lit by the fire. 

She crouches down next to me in the grass. “I came to see how you were faring”. 

“I’m fine. Thank you”. I do not feel comfortable expressing all my troubles to a woman I barely know, despite how kind she’s been to me.  
“I am sure it was a terrible shock for you” Hlardgerd says gently. 

I nod. “I didn’t know…” I stop myself. Hlardgerd is kind; it is tempting to talk with her. But I don’t think she needs to hear all my woes. 

She catches onto my nervousness and changes the subject. “Harald gained another victory today”. 

“Good for him” I respond sullenly. I am acting like a spoilt child, but I don’t care. I’ve had a terrible day. The only other day in my life that could compare was the day Hakon assaulted me, murdered my grandmother, and burned down our farm. 

Hlardgerd speaks slowly, as if worried over my reaction. “You mentioned…you have three children at home?” 

I can tell she is trying to be polite by drawing me into conversation, perhaps even distract me from my troubles. Before I can respond, my stomach growls loudly. I am grateful for the faded light and that the fire already casts a red glow on my face. 

I ladle some of the stew into a bowl. It is a weak mixture of salted meat, water, and turnips. I grimace at the bland food and wonder who put this concoction together. But hunger wins out and I take a bite. 

Hlardgerd produces a loaf of bread and honey. We split the loaf between ourselves. I answer her question while we eat. 

“I have three children with my husband. Two sons and a daughter. Our eldest son is six now, our daughter four, and our youngest will be two at the end of winter”. 

Hlardgerd nods and hails a passing slave girl to bring us drinks. “It sounds like you have a lovely little family. What are their names?”

I answer her and the slave girl returns with cups of ale for each of us. Hoping to get the attention off myself, I ask “Do you have any children?” 

“I had two sons and a daughter as well,” Hlardgerd says. “But my younger boy died as an infant. My children are nearly fourteen and twelve. My husband is already looking for our daughter to marry”. 

“At twelve?” I am surprised. I know it is normal for girls to marry once they’ve become women, yet it still seems so young. 

“Well, I’ve made him promise to wait a few years. She’s only just reached her womanhood and I can’t bear to let her go yet”. 

“But you have no difficulty leaving her behind for a raid” I say. My words sound more accusatory than I intended. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you”. 

“No, no. You are right. But I promised my husband I would join him on his raids. I can’t fight anymore, so I do what I can to help”. 

“Anymore?” I frown. “You were a shieldmaiden?” 

“Years ago. My father, aunt, uncle, and cousin, as well as many ancestors, were all warriors. My father trained me every day to be a shieldmaiden. I went into my first real battle at sixteen”. 

“But it seemed the Gods had other plans for me. A few years into my career, I’d made a decent name for myself. But in one battle, I took a sword to my shoulder and was severely wounded. I almost lost my arm”. 

“It took a long while for me to heal. Even after a year, it was difficult for me to lift my shield-arm high enough. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t even spin or weave properly because of my wound. I felt so useless. The only thing that kept me from going mad with boredom was my friend who taught me about herbs and healing. I became quite proficient with it”. 

“And then, I married my husband and bore my first son. By then, it had been several years since I’d last seen a battle and I was out of practice. But I’d also found a new love with healing. So, I made the decision to put up my sword and shield and be a healer instead”. 

I am not sure how to respond to her story. “You spent your whole life preparing for one thing and lost it in a moment. That must have been so difficult for you”. 

“It was, at the time. But when I felt lost and useless, I found a new meaning for my life. I am proud to be a healer, a wife, and a mother. I don’t feel any less because I couldn’t become what my father had wanted”. 

“Was he disappointed?” 

“He died before it all happened, so I wouldn’t know. But he was a good man. I think he would be glad that I am happy”. 

I have become so engrossed in my conversation with Hlardgerd, that I don’t notice someone else approaching. 

“You look better. Am I allowed to be around you now?” 

I look to see Erlendur around the fire. I do not know what to say. I am still angry with him for forcing me into something I was not comfortable with. I am angry with him for who he’s been on this entire journey. 

Erlendur takes my silence as a negative and walks away with a scowl.  
“Your husband?” Hlardgerd asks. 

I nod. “It’s his fault” I say bitterly. 

“What do you mean?” Her voice is inquisitive, yet gentle. I can tell she hopes for information, but I find her questions rude. 

“It is none of your business”. I get and walk back into the tent. It still stinks of blood. I lay down and bury myself in the blankets. 

Pain tears at my heart. So much emotion is tossing around inside me, like a ship caught on ocean waves in a storm. I feel I am caught on that ship and have no way to steer through the storm. I keep waiting to be drowned. 

I finally give into the pain and let myself cry. I cry until my stomach aches, but my heart feels no lighter. Exhaustion overcomes me, and I fall into sleep, the pain of my heart weighing me down into oblivion. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

I feel I have slipped into someone else’s body. I drift about the camp with a dark cloud hovering over me. Despite all the people, I feel so alone. 

I make no awareness of Harald’s campaign. The ambitions of a king mean nothing to me. Very little means anything to me anymore. 

I wake at sunrise, wash and dress, build the fire, and bake bread for breakfast. All as I do at home. I spend my days working around that camp without much mindfulness to my tasks. I nearly set my dress on fire one day and even this does little to snap me out of my black mood. 

Erlendur and I have fallen into a routine of civil politeness, but no warmth. We acknowledge each other in the morning and at meals, but otherwise rarely speak. I know he is angry I blame him for the lost child, but I am angry with him for so much more. 

Harald has made a significant dent in the petty kingdoms. Several have fallen in this campaign alone, of only a few months. But winter is coming soon, and many men need to return home to harvest their hay in time. There is restlessness amongst the camp. 

Harald is wise enough to see this. We head back towards Kaupang for the winter. Harald is already in plans for the coming spring and the next campaign. He wishes to take ships to the western coast and invade kingdoms there. If he could, he would likely just make winter camp in the country and set out at the first thaws, but his troops have down such a thorough job pillaging the countryside there is little left to sustain them.

I recall all the destruction as we ride back through the now ruined land. Harald has raped this land and soaked it in the blood of “his” people. How can he claim to be a deserving king?  
I wish I might be able to express these feelings to someone, to have at least person agree with me. But I recall Erlendur’s words that I should keep them to myself. And I cannot even speak with him anymore. He has been sullen and cold. We’ve not made love, or even really touched, since the lost child. 

I put it out of my mind. My babe, or what would have become it, was nothing more than a bloody mess, no more than a month or so along. The bloody rags that soaked him up were taken away and buried in a forgotten part of the woods. That was where our son would remain. 

I pause in my thoughts. I have no way of knowing what the child would have been, but there is a feeling in my gut. It was a boy. Had he lived to be born, we would have had another son, I am sure of it.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

We reach Kaupang in good time. I am relieved to see my children again, all healthy and well. The summer passes and we move into the beginning of winter. I had believed that leaving the campaign and returning to my children might help me, but the black cloud that hovers over me does not dissipate. 

My days move slowly, without much of interest. I go about my life on instinct, half-alive some days. I push back against the weight the refuses to leave my heart. There is too much for me to do to be overrun with grief. 

I tell myself I should not bother to grieve this lost child. It will not put him back in my womb. Any time my son crosses my mind, I fill with anger. Anger at Erlendur, anger at myself, anger at the Gods; I don’t know. 

Erlendur and I have remained in much of the same state as when we left the raid. I do not know at what moment our relationship faltered. Was it our arguing, the moment he restrained from striking me? Was it when he pressed me into love-making when I had no desire? Was it the sudden loss of a child we hadn’t even known had settled in my womb? 

Any desire I may have had for intimacy has faded ever since Erlendur pressured me into sex that night. I am sure that is the moment we conceived the ill-fated son. Was it his conception that doomed him? 

My husband and I have not laid together since. Now, there are no kisses, barely any touching. Our bed feels cold, even as we lie at each other’s sides. Erlendur is restless by my constant rejection, I know. But I cannot summon the desire for anything. Any work I do is out of habit, because I know it must be done. 

I do one such thing one day in early winter. I am inside working on my weaving. Erlendur has taken Ari to Rorik’s hall with him while they plan next year’s raids. Unna is sitting on the floor next to me, playing with her dolls. She begins to cough heavily. 

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I ask, pausing my work. 

Unna makes a discomforted face. “I don’t feel good, mama.” 

I crouch down in front of her. I am alarmed to see sweat on her face. There is a fire in the hearth, but it is still not so warm that she should sweat like this. I reach out my hand and place it on her forehead. Her skin is warm and clammy. 

I gather my daughter into my arms and carry her over to her bed. I tuck her into the furs. “It’s alright” I whisper to her. “You’re going to be fine”. 

Without thinking, I grab the iron pot and fill it half full with water from the barrel by the door. I hang it over the hottest part of the fire. 

Hanging from the rafters are some herbs I gathered from outside the city gates. I tied them in bundles and hung them to dry. I pick some of them now, tearing at them with shaking fingers. If my daughter is as ill as I fear, there may not be much I can do. 

I seep the herbs in the hot water and make an herbal tea. “Drink this” I offer it to Unna. 

She squirms and protests. I press the cup against her lips and force it into her mouth, watching carefully to make sure she swallows and does not choke. She is too weak to resist. 

I wipe at the sweat on her brow and try to make her comfortable. When she has relaxed enough to sleep, I check on Geir, who napped the whole time. To my horror, the sweat has built up on him as well. He squirms and begins to cry. 

I spend my day going back and forth between my children, tending them. Unna is slightly better, but Geir cries out and sweats and shakes. He is so young that I do not know if it would be safe to give him the same herbs. Unna will be five at Yule, but Geir is not yet two. I wish Gudrun were here. She is much more knowledgeable about healing than I. And Hlardgerd has returned to her own home with her husband. 

Finally, Erlendur and Ari return. 

“Where have you been?” I cry. Two sweating, crying children have left me in a foul, stressed mood. I turn to see them and feel a sense of dread. 

Erlendur is sweating as well. 

“Something is going on. Half the city’s fallen ill in an instant” Erlendur says. His voice is shaky. 

“And so have you. Get in bed” I order. 

Erlendur does not protest. He is terribly pale. I have never seen him so ill. Not even when I first saw him at the stream years ago did he seem so sickly. 

I make more of the herbal drink to give to him. Now, I have two small children and my husband to care for. And if what Erlendur has said is true, I am not the only one. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The Great Hall of Kaupang is filling every day with more ill. Rorik orders all the ill be brought into the hall to be contained. The city is locked down for fear of anyone coming or going and spreading the disease. 

I try to help the best I can. I bring water and wipe away sweat. I try to provide comfort to the dying and their families, though my heart is not in it. 

The air seems stale. The room is often quiet, the silence broken only by rattling coughs. 

Every day, at least one body is carried out, wrapped in death shrouds. 

I pause from giving water to an ill woman. She weakly pushes the flagon away. “My daughter,” she rasps. “I have a little girl. Look after her” She turns her head and coughs. “Please”. 

I nod, understanding a mother’s concern for her children over herself. But I look over to the little girl at her side, no more than eight summers. She is in much worse condition than her mother. She is one I don’t expect to survive. 

A little further down, Unna is lying. She is still ill. Geir, thank the Gods, improved after a few days. We’ve kept him and Ari at home, praying they are away from the worst of the plague. Ari is one of the few to not become ill at all, and I pray he remains healthy. 

I move over to my husband. Erlendur lies next to Unna. His skin is clammy and cool from the sweat. He is so weak he can barely eat or drink. I offer water to him and he grasps at the cup with a fumbling weakness. The motion tears my heart and in that moment, I forget the anger I had built up inside. 

I slip outside for a moment. I need fresh air after being cooped in the building that smells of herbs, incense, human sweat, and death. 

I have never seen the city more deserted. When we first arrived, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. Now, it looks like a city of ghosts. The only people I see are the few brave ones gathering up the dead. The bodies are piled on top of one another, burned in mass pyres outside the city walls. All the blankets and clothing used by the dead are burned as well. Smoke from these funeral pyres has turned sky almost black. 

I go back inside as an awful wailing fills the room. A woman is cradling her lifeless child. My heart goes out to her. Tears come to my eyes. Will I be the next to mourn? 

I suddenly feel very warm. I step forward slowly towards my family. All the strength seems to have left my body. I feel so weak and cold. I pull my shawl around my shoulders, but it does nothing to help. 

A woman looks in my direction and I try to speak, but no words will form on my tongue. The room starts to spin. My vision blurs. The last thing I remember is the floor rushing up to meet me as the world fades into darkness. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

I do not know how long I am unconscious. There are times I think I have regained awareness, only for it to quick fade. My mind slips back and forth into nothingness. 

I think I hear voices around me, panicked and worried, but their words make no sense to me. I dream of pain, and fire, and blood. I hear Erlendur’s voice calling me. I try to answer, to reach out for him, but I grasp only air. 

I open my eyes. I am back in my own body, freed from that terrifying other world. Was it real? Or just a nightmare? I do not know. All I am aware of it how weak and sore my body feels. I am lying on the floor of the hall, draped in wool blankets. 

I see Erlendur sitting next my makeshift bed. The sweat and illness is gone, but he still looks terrible. His hair is tangled and unwashed, falling loose down his shoulders. His beard is scraggly and dark circles are settled underneath his eyes. Lines are etched into his forehead and around his eyes. I cannot recall when he last looked so unkempt. 

“What happened?’ I try to say. My lips are cracked and dry. My throat is parched. I cannot speak. 

“You were ill. It’s been three days”. 

I try to sit up. Erlendur gently pushes me back down. I swallow and force myself to speak. “Are the children alright?” 

Erlendur is pale and I fear the worst. “They're alright. Unna’s fever broke right after you fell ill". 

Tears run down his cheeks. It is so rare to see him cry. I stare at him, wondering why he cries. "Why are you crying? If they're alright..." "It's you. I almost lost you". He grasps my hand in his own. His touch his rough from his calloused hands, but gentle. I squeeze his hand in mine. I feel I should say something, but I am at a loss for words. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

We move back into the house to make room for the other ill ones. I am still weak. Erlendur insists I should remain in bed. I cannot protest. All I wish to do is sleep and regain my strength. 

The next morning, I open my eyes and stare at the sun streaming through cracks in the shutters. Outside the city the dead are still being burned. How can the sun shine when everything is so wrong? 

I have barely risen from my bed since I awoke from my fever. I have no strength, no energy, no desire even. The dark cloud had faded momentarily when I was preoccupied with the plague, but now it is back. I feel chained. Every time I try to rise, sadness and exhaustion overpower me. I have no will to fight against it. 

“Brynja”. I hear Erlendur’s voice from behind me. I lay still, hoping he will think I am asleep. 

“Brynja, there are people here to see you”. 

I reluctantly turn over, intending to tell whoever it is to leave me be. I gasp at the sight of three familiar faces standing with Erlendur. 

Jorunn, Freydis, and Asgerd are huddled in the doorway. They all appear tired, but relieved. Jorunn and Asgerd are wearing travel-stained dresses and cloaks, but Freydis is dressed in her armor. 

I force myself to sit up. I blink and try to speak. They are still standing there, but I feel I am dreaming. 

“Brynja!” Jorunn comes over and sits on my bed. She grabs at my hand. “I've missed you so much, sister!” She leans forward to embrace me and I know she is real then. I feel something hard press between us. 

“Jorunn, I...” I look down and see a hard, round bump protruding from my sister’s belly. My jaw drops. 

“You’re with child!” 

A pained smile crosses my sister’s face. “I am. But this child will never know it’s father”. Tears fill her eyes and she begins to sob. 

I look over to Freydis and Asgerd. “What happened?” 

The two of them exchange worried glances with Erlendur. Finally, Freydis speaks. “The farm is gone. The villagers took it after your father…” She trails off, nervously. 

Dread fills me. “What? Is papa okay?” I look around the room for reassurance and see none. 

“Your father is dead, Brynja” Asgerd says softly. “In the plague. Along with Erik”. 

At the sound of her husband’s name, Jorunn sobs harder. I grasp her hand in mine. 

“No” It does not seem possible.

Freydis speaks again. “There was plague throughout the land. With your father gone, some of the villagers decided to overtake the farm. After…after the funerals, we fled. It was hard to find shelter anywhere. There were carts along the trails filled with corpses. Every village we passed had funeral pyres burning”. 

I shiver. The Gods must be angry with all of Norway. Is this a sign they are against Harald’s conquest? 

“But you? You came with them. I thought you were angry…” . Next to Freydis, Erlendur shifts uncomfortably. 

She glances at him. “I was at first. But, Gorm had his problems. He was a bit of a monster. No one wanted to believe it. But I saw how he treated Sigunn. She didn’t deserve all of it. And the Gods gave her no peace until the end”. 

“Is she gone too?” 

Freydis nods. “Over half the village was wiped out. Halla and her family lived…except for Ingimund, her eldest. He was one of the first to die”. 

“Poor Halla” I whisper. I cannot imagine losing a child. I am grateful to the Gods they spared ours. 

Freydis comes to sit by my bed. “When I heard what was planned, I couldn’t stand by. I’m willing to forgive what happened to my brother. Jorunn and Asgerd were in danger of the villagers. So, we salvaged what we could carry and fled. It was entirely by chance we heard about King Harald’s efforts. We thought you might be here. We had to camp outside the city in the woods for days. No one would let us in until the plague let up”. 

Jorunn has finally ceased crying. “Asgerd helped so much. She did all the work of carrying for everyone. She didn’t want me too close, because of the baby. I’m grateful to her”. She directs a sad smile to out servant woman, who has been so quiet. 

“And I think” Jorunn continues, “that it’s only fair Asgerd be freed from any servitude to us. She’s done more than we could have ever asked of her, especially after you left”. 

Asgerd gapes at Jorunn. She looks around the room. “I...I would not be a servant?” 

I shake my head. “No. I remember how much you’d helped me with my children. You are more like family. I agree with Jorunn”. 

Asgerd ducks her head. I think she has started to cry. Freydis squeezes her hand. 

I manage a smile. Jorunn’s pregnancy and Asgerd’s freedom are small moments of joy in all this darkness. 

That night, we settle in together. It feels like old times. I feign a smile and pretend to be happy to be with my family again, and happy for my sister with child, and my friends. But the darkness still lingers in my heart. I cannot ignore it, or the troubles in my marriage with Erlendur. I know we should talk. But I do not know what to say. 

I slip into bed next to him that night. We’ve made room for Jorunn. Asgerd and Freydis share a space in the far corner. 

I want to be happy again. I want my life to go back to the way it was. Before Erlendur killed Gorm, before he was banished, before the raid and our crumbled marriage, and our lost child. Before all this started. But I cannot go back. I can only go forward, and I do not know how I’m going to be able to do that. 

At last, I give into all the pain in my heart. I roll over onto my stomach and press my face against the pillows and weep. I do not know whether I cry for my lost child, for my father, my sister, my husband, or myself. I let the pain and tears rack at my body until finally, exhausted, I fall asleep.


	9. The Darkest Days

When I am well enough to rise from my bed, I go straight to work in clearing out all the filth and disease that plagued our home. It is a fine autumn day. The weather is cool, so I fling open the shutters and doors to let in fresh air and sunlight. I gather any leftover sheets and blankets used during the plague and arrange for them to be taken out of the city and burned. All the other blankets, furs, and clothing are washed. 

In the small yard surrounding our little house, I heat water in an iron pot over the outside fire. I gather together soap made of animal fat and spread the clothing on a flat rock on the ground. There, I scrub and pound out any dirt with the soap. I rinse all the clothing in the hot water and hang it from a cord tied between two trees, so the sun and wind can dry it. 

Inside the house, I scrub all the dishes, kitchen utensils, and drinking horns until everything is clean. I remake the bed-places with freshly washed blankets and aired furs. I scrub and dust every bit of the little house, even clearing all the ash from the hearth and cleaning it out as well. 

While I am working, I insist Erlendur and Ari clear out the animal pens of dung and filthy straw. Freydis pitches in to help them, and Asgerd assists me with the laundry. Jorunn cannot do as much in her condition, so she sits in the yard with Unna, tutoring her on her spinning. She keeps an eye on Geir, playing with his wooden toy horses nearby. 

By the end of the day, I am exhausted, but pleased. The work distracted me from my problems. I feel I can relax better in a freshly cleaned home. 

Winter is approaching far more quickly than I would like. There is wood to be chopped, animals to be slaughtered and their meat salted, and food stores to be filled. It was far easier for me when we lived on our own land, with everything we required at our disposal. But in this city, life is not the same. 

Though we’ve lived here over a year, I cannot forget we came from someplace else. I do not belong behind high ramparts and gates. I was raised on an open farm, with only fjords and forests to hold us in. But there is no home for us to go to now. This city is a cage to me. I dread the thought of spending the rest of my life trapped behind these walls. 

Of course, this place follows many of the same customs and festivals we observed back in the village. At the midwinter solstice, we celebrate Yule with feasting, fires, and sacrifices for twelve days, a respite of the hard, every day labor we go through the rest of the year. 

A few weeks after Yule, is the Midvintersblot, to celebrate the return of the sun and ready for the ploughing of fields soon to come. Then, there is Disarblot, the festival of the Disir, to honor the spirits of our female ancestors and goddesses, and pray for fertility for our animals and ourselves, as well as safety in childbirth. 

Into the spring and summer, we hold Sommarsblot, as the days lengthen, and the sun lasts far into the night. We hold the hay harvest in the summer and prepare ourselves for the coming winter with sacrifices of thanks for a good harvest. 

And as summer fades, and winter starts to come again, we celebrate Vintersblot, as the days grow shorter and the sun begins to fade. At this time, we remember and honor our ancestors. It is said that if one could sit all night out on a grave during Winternights, they would be granted divinatory powers, but only if they did not go mad. The “Asgardr-riders”, the Wild Hunt, souls of our departed ancestors, would ride through the night sky at winter. Some say anyone out-of-doors when they pass might be carried off by the dead. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Yule comes once again and we pass into the new year. Unna reaches her fifth birthday. And as the Yule celebrations die down, Jorunn goes into labor. 

It is a cold winter afternoon. My family sits around the house. The hearth fire crackles softly, the iron pot simmers over it with stew for dinner. Asgerd is at the hearth, one eye on the stew as she grinds flour. Erlendur and Freydis sit at the table, cleaning and repairing gear for the upcoming raids. Ari watches them work. Jorunn sits on a bench by the hearth, her great belly out before her, showing Unna how to stitch together cloth. I stand at my loom and weave, glancing occasionally over my shoulder at the quiet hut. 

It has already grown dark out. But it is a relief to know the days will lengthen again soon and there will be more sun. It has been a miserable winter, I think. 

A cry alerts the whole room. Jorunn looks down in horror as her water wets the bench cloths she’s sitting on. Her face becomes as red as her hair. Unna grimaces and stands up out of the way. 

I turn to see my sister’s face flushed with embarrassment and fear. “My baby” is all she can say. 

I look at Asgerd, realizing we two are the only ones who can help Jorunn with her birth. 

“Don’t be afraid” Asgerd assures her. “You’ll be alright”. 

Jorunn nods mutely, but her eyes are filled with terror. I know I looked the same at my first birth. Childbirth is a painful ordeal, a great battle every mother suffers thorough. Men will never know or understand the pain. Perhaps if they did, they’d be more considerate of their wives and their desires. 

I snap at Erlendur. “Get out of here! And take the children. You won’t be any use”. My voice is much more vicious than it needs to be. 

Erlendur glares at me in respond, but wordlessly rounds up the children, wrapping them in their cloaks and mittens, and takes them outside. Freydis goes along. She’s never given birth and would be no help. 

Jorunn’s labor drags on through the afternoon into the night. We perform all the rituals for childbirth: unbinding her hair, unlocking the chests. My sister rocks back and forth in between contractions, humming to herself. Her frightened eyes betray her outward calm. 

The first labor is often the longest. Asgerd and I take turns pacing the room with Jorunn. We talk to help pass the time. I fake a smile and pretend to be excited for my sister. We discuss whether it will be a boy or girl and reminisce about the happy moments of our childhood. 

I notice Asgerd being left out of our conversation. “How did you ever come to be with Hakon?” I ask. In all the years I’ve known Asgerd, it’s a question I never thought to ask. I am not sure why I would ask this, now of all times, but the words are from my mouth before I can stop myself. 

Asgerd seems taken aback. She is quiet for a moment before she answers. 

“My father was a poor fisherman. He would often sacrifice our best goods to the goods, and drink away much of the rest. He died when I was just old enough to marry, but my mother and I were left with hardly anything. There wasn’t enough to provide me with a dowry. My mother would scrape together firewood and offer her services in healing just to keep us from starving. I went to bed hungry many nights”. 

“When I was fifteen, Hakon and his men passed though the village we lived in. I was poor, but I had my looks. And you know how he had an eye for women. When he showed an interest in me, my mother encouraged it. She felt it’d be better to risk my reputation over my life, if it kept us from starving. So, I went to him that night and offered him my body. I was so ashamed and frightened. I cried during”. 

“But I suppose I pleased him enough. He took me back to his farm and I became a kept woman. He might have discarded me sooner, but I bore him his sons. I think that gave me some favor. I don’t think I was truly happy in that time, but I was warm, fed, and clothed better than I’d ever been before”. 

“And your mother?” I ask. 

Asgerd shakes her head. “I never saw her again after Hakon took me. I suppose she is long dead now”. 

“I’m sorry”. 

Asgerd shakes her head. “Don’t be. She’d be thrilled at my life. Even when you kept me as a servant, I’ve lived better than I ever did in my childhood”. 

Jorunn interrupts our conversation with a squeal as another contraction grips her. It is time for her to push. I offer to kneel in front of her to catch the child and insist Asgerd be the one to support her. 

It is for a selfish reason. I wonder if the rush of blood that comes out with the child will help to douse the dryness of my own womb. Perhaps I will be able to bear another child then. 

It does not take long for the baby to come out. She arrives covered in blood and screaming, but strong and healthy. A beautiful girl. Jorunn weeps at the sight of her. 

We care for my sister and her daughter. When they’ve fed and are resting, the baby wrapped in linens in her mother’s arms, I clean up the mess of the birth while Asgerd fetches the others back. 

We gather back in the house. It is now almost dawn. The children are all asleep, Ari in Erlendur’s arms, Unna in Freydis’, and Geir in Asgerd’s. 

“What are you going to call her?” Erlendur asks. 

Jorunn smiles at the sleeping child in her arms. “Ericka, after her father”. 

I force a smile. I wan tot be happy for my sister. But seeing this child has brought back the painful memory of the sudden miscarriage in the woods and all the pain that went with it. Our lost son, and possibly the last child I’ll ever bear. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Ericka is a healthy, beautiful girl. Jorunn is nervous, as all new mothers are, but she adapts quickly. I am surprised at how nurturing a mother she is. She carries Ericka everywhere, always cooing over her. I don’t recall that last time she’s ever smiled so much. Motherhood is good for her. And it seems she’s moved past her grief of losing Erik so suddenly. 

But her child is not the only thing to distract her. Rorik has taken to making trips to the hut on a regular basis. At first, I think he is only here to discuss the upcoming campaigns with Erlendur. But after his third visit in as many weeks, I notice were his interest lies. 

Whenever Rorik comes into our home, he always looks for Jorunn first. She stares at him longer might be polite. There is a look, deep in both of their eyes. They desire one another. 

I am not sure how to process this. Rorik is older than her, by at least a decade. And he is Earl here. But, then, Jorunn is still young and very beautiful. Her status as a young mother and widow gives her story a painful, but beautiful edge to it. 

Ever since Jorunn reached womanhood, men began to take notice of her and she knew it. She was always the most beautiful of us sisters. Even as the youngest, she was always tall for her age and developed quickly. I recall the irritation and jealous I felt as a young woman when her curves were more defined than mine, her skin still flawless. My chest was flatter, my skin easily reddened and irritable, my hair dark and untamable, I was certain I was the ugly one of the family. Asgerd is perhaps the only woman I’ve met who could challenge Jorunn with her beauty. 

Yet, even I am still shocked at the announcement, just weeks after their first meeting, that Rorik intends to marry her. 

“Do you love him?” I ask her after she gives us the news. 

“No, I would be a fool to turn him down, wouldn’t I? An earl offering marriage? And I am a farmer’s daughter, a widow, and with a child, yet he still offered”. 

She wipes at forming tears. “My heart will always belong to Erik. He was my first—my only—true love. But I know I’m better off if I remarry”. She smiles against her tears. “And I’ll be a Jarl’s wife! Can you imagine? Besides, Rorik is kind and he can make me laugh. I may not be able to give him my whole heart, but…I think I could come to care for him. I think we will be happy enough together”. 

So on the first warm day of spring, they marry. It is a huge wedding, with all Rorik’s men and their families in attendance. After the ceremony we gather in the hall for the wedding feast. Rorik spares no expense. 

The tables groan under the weight of the dishes: roasted goose, pork crackling, honeyed chicken, roasted ham, hazelnut pudding, an apple and cheese tart seasoned with saffron from the Far East, dates stuffed with almonds and honey, baked apples, kale tossed with almonds and cheese, spiced oat cakes, honey-glazed roasted root vegetables, and of course, a variety of fresh bread and cakes. To drink there is hot mulled wine, honey mead, ale, and beer. At the lower tables, there is stewed beef, roasted pork shank, turnips with peas and pork bacon, mushroom soup, and smoked herring. 

The high table is laid with the finest linen tablecloth, dishes of silver, pewter goblets, and cups made of real glass. Beeswax candles are placed along the center of the table for extra lighting, and the tables, posts, and rafters around the hall are draped in fine cloth and greenery. Every dish is decorated to be pleasing for the eyes as well as the stomach. 

Jorunn sits at the center of the high table with her new husband. She looks lovely. Her thick red hair is unbound, covered in a crown of colorful flowers. Her dress is embroidered red and green that compliments her hair. Gold jewelry shines around her neck and colorful beads decorate the front of her dress. 

I sit at the table and pick at my food. Despite the doors left open to along fresh air, the building is still stuffy and hot with people and smoke. Musicians play harps and flutes in the corner. The clinking of glass, the drone of conversations, the laughter, the flashes of jewelry in the torchlight, everything in the room overwhelms my senses. 

I cannot take it any longer. I barge out of the hall, gasping in the cool spring air. It is dark out, with only torches and a partially-full moon to light the night.  
I should be happy. My sister has been married, to an earl no less. She will be well cared for. It is not jealousy that is eating me up inside, but something else. Something I cannot quite put my finger on and explain. 

It is as if I’ve lost the ability to be happy. I cannot find joy in anything anymore, not even little moments. There used to be a quiet comfort in the fresh spring breeze, warm nights weaving by the fire while the children play at my feet. There used to be sweet mornings waking up in Erlendur’s arms to the pre-dawn light. Now we barely touch. 

I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who they belong to. 

“Brynja” Erlendur speaks sternly. “Come back inside. This is your sister’s wedding. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion. Aren’t you happy for her?” 

I turn slowly to face him. “I cannot recall the last time I was happy. I know it’s not been since we came here”. 

Erlendur takes a step forward. “What are you taking about?” 

I let out a shuddering breath. I can’t keep my pain in any longer. “I’m talking about you! Everything is your fault!” 

He gapes at me, like fish without air. “My..?” 

“Yes!” I stab a finger at him. “You killed Gorm, got yourself outlawed, brought us to this awful city!” You acted like a savage on the raid, force me into sex when I don’t want it, showed no respect or care for me, and got me with child! Our life and our marriage has gone downhill from the moment you drove that axe into Gorm’s head!” 

Erlendur face twists into a snarl. “How many times are we going to go through this? How many times?!” 

His voice has risen to a shout. “You came with me when I was outlawed. You came with me on the raid when I didn’t want you to! You’re stubborn and proud and refuse to see anything past your own views. I’ve told you, repeatedly, about the raid, about Harald. I’ve warned you. You argue with me at every turn and refuse to see my side of things when I’m trying to protect our family!” 

“You’ve changed completely since we came here! I don’t recognize you anymore, Brynja! You’re angry and miserable and negative. You used to be optimistic, you used to see the good in things, even in me. That girl, that beautiful, compassionate, optimistic girl. I fell in love with her. And I thought she fell in love with me. What happened to her? You’re so cold now”. 

Tears form in my eyes. I struggle to speak against the lump in my throat “I do not know... I can’t…there’s this…darkness that’s overwhelmed me. Perhaps it started long before we came here. I’ve changed; I know I have. I don’t know how, or if, I can go back to being the girl I was before. Not after everything that’s happened”. 

I choke then, and a sob escapes my lips. I put a hand over my mouth and let the tears run down my cheeks. 

Erlendur takes another step forward. His voice is quiet now, strained from shouting. “Brynja, this is the first you’ve said anything. If you’re in pain, tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know you’re hurting. And you, you’re so strong, so brave and quiet, sometimes I can’t tell if you’re suffering”. 

He reaches out and touches my cheek, swiping at the tears with his thumb. I close my eyes and just focus on the soft touch of his skin against mine. How long has it been since we’ve touched one another so tenderly? 

“Brynja, we don’t seem to talk anymore. Or touch. Or make love. I don’t know what to do to help you. I know you’re angry with me. I know you’re hurt over what happened on the raid…the child…your father’s death, all of it”. 

“I want to help you. I don’t know how. When I came into that tent and saw you with blood on your thighs, when you were ill, and I sat beside you and prayed for you to live…I felt so helpless. It made me afraid. And when I feel afraid…it makes me angry that I can do nothing. I don’t like feeling powerless and out of control. I always felt calm with you. But now everything’s erratic. We can get through all of this together. But I need you to help me”. 

I shake my head slowly. I am surprised Erlendur has manages to articulate his feelings. He is often so closed up. 

He moves closer to me and presses his lips against my forehead. “Do you still love me?” he whispers. 

My tears have stopped falling. My heart is wrung out, my mind feels blank. The next words escape my mouth with my registering them. “Perhaps I didn’t fall in love with you, just the man I thought you could be”. 

The look that crosses his face might’ve broken my heart if it wasn’t already so cracked. He says nothing, but the pain is clear. Not even his typical mask can hide it. 

The words continue to fall from my lips. “I love the man who cared for me and out family. I love the man who fathered our children. I love the man who stood up for my honor. But I care nothing for the man I went raiding with”. 

Erlendur stops me before I can continue. “The warrior part of me is as much as the father and husband. It is who I was, who I still am. I was raised to be a warrior, a Viking. A part of me always will be. If you cannot accept all the parts me—that darkness, those…those terrible things I’ve done—then perhaps you can’t love me at all!” 

The words might’ve stung. But my heart is so dry now I hardly feel their affect. I stare at Erlendur solemnly. “I guess I don’t love you, then”. 

Erlendur’s eyes narrow. His mouth sets into a thin line. I know this look. This is a look of anger, hatred even. This is a look he’s directed at his enemies, at Hakon, at Gorm. Never at me. 

“I guess you don’t. Then, perhaps there is no reason for us to stay together”. He turns and walks back into the hall, leaving me alone in the dark again. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

A week has passed since our fight. We have had arguments in the past, of course, but never have we fought so fiercely as we did this time. And neither of us has ever sunk so low to try and harm the other. 

I stand in the doorway of the hut and watch Erlendur saddling his horse in the yard. It is still dark out, with only an outdoor fire to provide light. Harald intends to leave on his latest campaign at daybreak. 

I will not be going this time and Erlendur has not asked. We’ve barely said a word to one another in the last week. At night, we’d lie in bed with our backs to one another, avoiding the other’s touch. It used to be before he’d leave we’d spend our time together, perhaps even make love. But we’ve not lain with one another for months now, not since I conceived the ill-fated child. 

Erlendur tightens the saddle girth and comes over to me. Since he would be leaving before sunrise, he said his goodbyes to the children last night. His face is in its neutral mask; we look at one another in silence. The air feels thick between us. 

“Take care” Erlendur says, but even his voice is devoid of emotion. It seems all the feelings he was capable of were expressed in our argument. Now he is monotone, and I think his heart is drained with grief and anger, as mine is. 

I give a slight nod to acknowledge him. “You as well”. 

This would normally be the time where we would embrace and kiss and cling for one final moment before parting ways. We hover in uncomfortable anticipation of the other. Finally, Erlendur leans forward and gives me a brief brush of his lips on mine. I hope to feel some passion in the slight moment, but there is nothing. 

I watch Erlendur mount his horse and ride out of the yard. He does not turn around to look back at me. This may be the last time I ever see him. Harald is taking his men north and west to conquer more petty kingdoms. Doubtless, there will be battles. Erlendur may not survive. It pains my heart to think that may have been our last moment together. 

I slip back into the house and wipe at sudden tears. Of course, now that he is gone, I feel something. I ought to be starting breakfast and getting the children up and ready, yet I sit and stare into the coals of the fire for a long while. My mind drifts in and out, but mostly I am sitting in a dark void. 

I wish there was someone I could talk to about the anger and grief steeping inside me. I miss Halla and Gudrun. Though I love both Jorunn and Freydis, I am not sure they could understand. Jorunn’s first marriage did not last long and Freydis had never been wed or borne a child. Ragnfridr is experienced in these matters, yet I am not sure I know her well enough to discuss such intimacies. In any case, Freydis and Ragnfridr have left to join the campaign. And Asgerd, as a free woman, wants to accompany her lover, so I am alone aside from my sister. 

I find myself longing for my mother, the one I never knew. I have no memory that I can recall of my mother. I was a little child when she died bringing Jorunn into the world. She was beautiful, I was told, with auburn hair and sky-blue eyes. My sister Gudrun could recall how soft her hands were, even after a lifetime of work in the fields and at the looms. She swore our mother smelled like fresh summer hay, even in the darkest days of winter. Asta, my grandmother, could recall how proud she was of her daughter-in-law and told me I’d inherited her skill for weaving and her deep compassion for others. 

Yet, despite these tales, my mother has remained a shadowy, faceless figure to me. I do not know what features I might have shared with her or what her voice sounded like. I cannot recall the moments of my earliest childhood when she might have sung me to sleep or combed my hair. 

My grandmother took her place in raising my sisters and I. She taught me to spin and weave, scolding my clumsy, childish fingers when I couldn’t make the thread even. Whatever stories I know, from the Gods to my own family, came from her lips. 

I miss Asta. She sacrificed herself so that Jorunn and I might live and escape the clutches of Hakon. Her funeral pyre was that of my childhood home as it burned to ash. I hope she is settled in the afterlife. 

The children are waking and they draw me from my thoughts. I force myself up to start my daily chores, pushing Erlendur—and all the pain he caused—into the furthest corner of my mind.


	10. Homecoming

A few days after Erlendur leaves, I awaken early and start packing. I’ve not told anyone of my plan. 

When Jorunn, Asgerd, and Freydis arrived, they told us how our farm had been confiscated. Something about that had felt wrong, impossible, and now I realize what it is. And I know what I’m going to do about it. 

Silent, wide-eyed looks are all I get when I tell the children to pack their belongings. Ari and Unna look at each other then at me in confusion. 

“Are we going somewhere, Mama?” 

“Yes. We’re going home”. 

“But I thought this is our home now” Ari argued. 

“It’s not. It never was. Now hurry. I want to get going”. 

“What about Papa?” Unna pipes up. “Where’s he?” 

“I don’t know. Probably off terrorizing a village with the King”. 

Ari and Unna both stare at me and I realize I should have said something else. They are both too young to know about the realities of a raid. I wish I’d stayed ignorant of them as well. 

I fill our leather packs with the clothing and possessions we brought with us. I am so focused on my preparations I don’t notice when my sister comes over. 

“Brynja?” Jorunn’s voice is panicked. “What are you doing?” 

I do not look up from saddling my horse. “I’m going home. I cannot live here another moment”. 

“What are you talking about?” 

I sigh and turn to my sister. She is standing by the yard gate, her eyes wide, her face pale. It has been a few months now since she bore her daughter, Ericka, and she still wears the glow of a new mother. 

“I have been miserable since I arrived in this awful city. I hate it here. I hate this house, I hate the crowds, I hate that we have no land to farm. I miss our home”. 

“Brynja” Jorunn says sadly. “Home is gone. This is our home now”. 

“For you, perhaps. You’re the earl’s wife”. 

“And what do you expect to do? The villagers came and took the house; they all but forced us out. I was there, you weren’t. Do you expect to just move back in?” 

“Yes. It’s mine”. 

“But—” 

“When I married Erlendur, Father gave one-third of the land and herds as my dowry. That is mine, Jorunn. My property. And a woman’s dowry cannot be confiscated if her husband is outlawed. So, if the villagers think they can take it because Erlendur is gone, they’re wrong”. 

Jorunn stares at me with wide eyes. She seems at a loss for words. I go back to preparing my pack. 

“And Erlendur?” Jorunn’s voice is soft. 

I don’t look up. “What about him?” 

“When he comes back—and he will, I’m sure—what will he do? Am I supposed to tell him his wife ran off and took his children?” 

“They’re my children, too. And yes, you can tell him that. I don’t care one way or another”. 

“He won’t be able to go after you though! His banishment isn’t up yet, not for another year!” 

“That’s not my problem” I say firmly. “I came here because I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to tear apart the family Erlendur and I have. I didn’t want my children to grow up not knowing their father. He would have been a complete stranger to Geir. But I don’t care anymore. I can’t stay here”. 

“Brynja…”

I mean it, Jorunn. Any longer and I’ll be drowning myself in the fjord like Ukkr’s first wife”. 

Jorunn’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t talk like that! It scares me”. 

I don’t respond. I don’t know what to say. 

Jorunn finally sighs in resignation. “Let me arrange a ship for you. The trails are too dangerous, especially nowadays”. 

I cannot argue with the logic in that. I will have three children with me and I can’t defend myself. “That would be welcome, I suppose”. 

Jorunn arranges passage for us on a merchant’s ship. The ship is about the size of a regular warship, but its hull is deeper for cargo space, its pace slower. 

We leave early, shortly after the sun is fully risen. With it being into summer now, the days are long. There is plenty of time for travel. We sail along the coastline, the distant shore never quite out of sight. The sun is bright, and the wind is fair. These are good days for travel. I suppose Harald is taking advantage of the weather to drive his armies like chattel.   
Ari and Unna are thrilled to be at sea. The giggle and stare eagerly out over the water. Ari takes particular interest as the sailors show him the ropes and let him attempt the oars. They compliment Unna as a pretty girl and praise her recites of the stories Erlendur and I had told her about the Gods. 

I wish Geir and I could share their enthusiasm. I have been in small fishing boats before, but only for short periods of time and never far from shore. 

Geir is pale. He whimpers and crawls into my lap. I hold him close to me, stroking his hair. At least he hasn’t retched. 

One of the merchants grins at him. “Alright, little man?” he calls over the sound of the crashing waves. Geir grimaces and buries his face in my cloak. 

It is afternoon when we sail into the village. We had sailed along the coastline, barely out of sight, and made easy time I suppose. I watch as we approach the docks. Though the village has grown in years past, it still looks so small compared to Kaupang. I find it a relief. 

Smoke rises lazily from the roofs of the houses. Someone is driving a herd of sheep into a pen. On the western end of the village is the small harbor with three docks. I see another merchant ship being unloaded. Life here seems so quiet, so idyllic compared to the bustling crowds and noise of the merchant city I’ve left behind. 

Memories rush through my mind. I was born on a farmstead not far from the village and lived there for my first eighteen years. I would spend my free time coming to the village to play with my friends and to trade for goods. No matter what, I will always think of this land as home. 

It breaks my heart now to think that the people I lived alongside for decades might no longer welcome me. 

My stomach is clenched with fear as we pull into the dock. What sort of reception will we receive?

Our presence is noticed before we can even anchor. A handful of men come out with spears and axes. Some women and children hand behind them as curious spectators. 

The men Jorunn sent to accompany raise their right hands to show they is unarmed. The villagers hesitantly lower their weapons and move aside. The people stare at me. I am sure they recognize me, just as I recognize the faces in the crowd. A few faces show surprise, but many are unreadable. 

“Brynja! Is that you?” I recognize the voice. 

“Gudrun!” Relief washes over me at the sound of my sister’s voice. Gudrun pushes past the men and makes her way over to me. 

I find I am shaking a little as I clamber up onto the dock. Gudrun reaches me as my feet hit the wood and she embraces me tightly. 

Tears spring to my eyes. I hadn’t realized how emotional a homecoming this could be. 

Gudrun pulls away to study me and smiles. “I missed you, sister”. 

Before I can respond, someone steps out of the crowd, one of the village elders. 

“What are you doing here?” The voice is not welcoming. 

I clear my throat and step forward. I try to straighten my shoulders and look confident, though I am terrified inside. 

“I’ve come home. I’ve come to take back the land that my family was forced from”. 

Mutterings drift through the crowd. 

“Your husband?” the elder asks. 

“Erlendur is not here” I inform them. 

“Where is Erlendur?” Gudrun asks. “Is he—” 

“No, he’s alive” I say. At least, as far as I know. “He’s gone raiding with King Harald”. 

Gudrun’s eyes widen. “You have a lot of explaining to do, sister”. 

“I will. But first, I have an announcement”. I turn to serve the crowd of villagers standing before me. I raise my voice to be sure they hear me. 

“When I married, my father granted one-third of his lands and herds to me as my dowry. They are mine and no one here has any right to them. Now, I intend to move back into my hall and live there in peace. Does anyone have a problem with that?” I look around at the shocked faces. 

Someone speaks up from the crowd, though I cannot see their face. “And what of your husband? Will he be returning?” 

I shrug. “Perhaps. His banishment was agreed for only three years and that time is almost up. If he does return, there is nothing anyone can complain of. He has kept to the terms so far”. 

There is grumbling among the people. Clearly, some are disgruntled that I’m right. 

Satisfied, I look back at my children. “Let’s go home”. 

Gudrun escorts us to the home she shares with Ukkr and the children. A couple of the men offer to carry our belongings. 

I don’t recognize the two figures the wait by the door as we approach the house. It takes me a moment to realize they are my niece and nephew. 

Despite it only having been a couple of years, they’ve changed drastically. Tyrgve must be fourteen now and Kari almost twelve. 

“Look who it is!” Gudrun smiles brightly. “Your Aunt Brynja and your cousins are back!” 

“Auntie!” Kari smiles and rushes forward to hug me. I am astounded at the girl on the cusps of womanhood. She is as tall as I am, yet still has the face and body of a young girl. Her chest is budding, her hips slightly wider. Her hair is still thick, curly, and vibrantly red. 

Tyrgve is a bigger shock. He is taller than I am, and his mother. He may even be taller than Erlendur. But he is lean, his reddish-brown hair is shaggy, and his face stripped of some of it’s baby fat. I can only think of Tyrgve as a little boy but he is nearly a man. 

There is a loud commotion in the yard as my children greet their older cousins. My heart warms for the first time in a while to see how happy they all are. 

A boy around Geir’s age hovers in the doorway. He is of a darker complexion than his half-siblings, but I know him at once. 

I smile at the little boy. “Hello, Egil. I don’t suppose you would remember me?” 

Egil stares at me with wide dark eyes and says nothing. 

“Egil, don’t be rude” Gudrun says. “Come and say hello. This is my sister, your aunt Brynja”. 

The boy gives a slight wave and disappears into the house. 

“I’m sorry about that. He’s painfully shy”. 

“He’s only two years old is he not?” 

“Yes. I can’t believe it’s been so long already”. 

We settle inside her house to talk and rest before heading up to the farm. I explain the trip to Kaupang, and briefly discuss the raids, but I leave out all the negative parts. There is no reason for Gudrun to worry. 

Gudrun fills me in on things that have happened since I left. 

“Life hasn’t been as good with Erlendur gone” Gudrun confesses. “There have been no raids. And when the plagues hit…I don’t think I slept at all. I most have been at nearly every house in the village”. 

“I know. I helped in the city. It was so terrible, all the death. Ari was the only one of us to not fall ill”. 

“Egil and Ukkr were sick. And Kari. I thank the Gods I didn’t lose them. I felt terrible for Halla…” she drifts off and watches my face. When I make no reaction, she continues.   
“After Ingimund died, Sindri left on a merchant trip. He took Halla and their remaining children with him. They’ve never come back”. 

“I don’t suppose Halla would be pleased to see me?” 

“I don’t know, Brynja. She barely ever even spoke to me after…you know”. 

I nod and change the subject. “Jorunn is well. She, Asgerd, and Fryedis found us. She’s had her child. A daughter, Ericka. And she’s married a earl”. 

Gudrun’s jaw drops slightly. “I always thought she was ambitious, but an earl?” 

“His name is Rorik. He seems a good man and I think she’s happy with him”. 

“It’s a relief to know someone is happy”.   
…………………………………………………………………………………..  
I am hardly aware of the time passing. The black mood that enveloped me is hardly better now than it was in the city. I thought being home would free me, but instead I feel engulfed by loneliness. 

The farm has been left neglected. No crops were planted the past spring. The herds were mostly all taken. Only a small amount of the cattle and goats remain, up in the summer pastures. I salvage what I can from the gardens and orchards. 

During the day, things are well enough. It is only myself, the children, and a handful of slaves to care for. I am so much more back in my element on the farm than I ever was in the city. The regular routine soothes me and gives me something to focus on besides my pain. 

But it is different at night. When the children are in bed, and the hearth fire has burned low, I find myself pacing the hall in near darkness, unable to sleep. I’ve lost weight; I am certain I was not been this thin since before Ari was ever born. But I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I would die if it were not for the children needing me. 

Several weeks at least must have passed since we came home. The summer has been stifling hot and slow. We’re gathered inside, my children and I, in the early evening. Outside, the sky grows dark with a threat of rain. I think I hear thunder in the distance. At least Unna is no longer afraid. 

I hear the jingle of a harness outside and then footsteps coming to the door. We all pause in our activities and stare towards the door as it opens. I look up to see Erlendur silhouetted against the doorway. I have wondered how our reunion might commence if we might have the opportunity to reunite at all. I am calmer than I had anticipated. I meet my husband’s gaze and wait for him to speak. 

He clears his throat and steps forward hesitantly. I narrow my eyes and study his face. 

“Papa!” The children shout with joy as they see him. They run into his arms. Erlendur smiles and kneels down to hug and kiss them all. They cling to him eagerly. 

Eventually, he pulls away and looks up to me. We stare at one another in silence. 

“You look…well” he finally speaks. 

“As do you” I respond. And he does. He does not appear to be injured, though I notice a half-healed cut along his cheek; I wager he went into battle without his helmet again. The dark tunic he wears is not one I recall making him; it is made of a rich wool. He has a cloak dyed the color of dried blood, with a gray wolf skin is draped over his shoulders. He has obviously done well on the campaign to have acquired the fine clothing and fur. 

“Brynja,” Erlendur’s voice is almost pleading. “I’ve missed you. Are you still angry with me?” 

I do not answer him, but look to the children. “I need you all to go to your rooms. I have to talk with your father”. 

The children cling to Erlendur. “It’s alright” Erlendur tells them. His gives them more kisses. “Go on”. 

Unna takes Geir’s hand and they leave reluctantly. I wait until they are out of earshot before speaking. 

“I’m surprised you came back”. 

“And why should you be? You’re my wife. And this is our home. Why wouldn’t I come back?” 

“Well, you seemed to be having such a good time raiding and pillaging, I couldn’t imagine you’d want to give up your exciting life as a warrior to be a farmer again.” My voice is bitter. 

Anger tinges Erlendur’s response. “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

“Exactly what I said”. 

A hiss of frustration escapes his lips. “I want to understand you, Brynja. I want to know why you’ve been acting the way you are. But I don’t. I don’t know who you are anymore”. 

“I could say the same about you”. 

“You--! Why did you leave? Do you have any idea how terrifying it was for me to return and find you and the children gone?!” 

“Because I regretted my decision to follow you. Not only into exile, but on the campaign as well. It was a nightmare. I couldn’t live like that anymore. This is my world, Erlendur. A warrior’s life is yours. We can’t live in each other’s worlds”. 

My husband steps closer to me. “We can” he argues. “And we have”. 

“No. I lived with you when you were a farmer, and I thought a good man. But I can’t live with the part of you that’s Viking. I thought I could. I was wrong”. 

“Both are parts of me. You have to accept that. You have been able to overlook all that bad from my past. It was you who told me once, that just because I had done terrible things before, didn’t mean my future couldn’t be better? What happened to that optimistic girl?” 

“She’s dead and gone. She died when she went out into the world beyond this valley. It was too much for her. And it seems, for all her optimism, she was wrong about you. You aren’t a better man! Perhaps you’ve never been a good one at all and I was too blinded by my feelings for you to notice!” 

“Brynja—“. 

“I am staying here where I belong. I want a quiet, comfortable life. The farm work, the children, a hearth to sit next to on a cold night. I don’t think it’s too much to ask”.   
I continue firmly. “You have two options. You can stay here with us and resume our old life, and perhaps we’ll live out our days in peace. Or, you can go back to raid with Harald. But if you do, you will never be welcome into this house again”. 

Erlendur is stunned. “Brynja, my love…” 

“Don’t ‘my love’ me, Erlendur. Did you love me when you forced yourself on me? Did you love me when you nearly struck me in anger? Did you love me when you left to raid, again and again, without any thought to how I may have felt?” 

“I’ve always gone on raids before. You’ve never been bothered with it. Why now?” 

“Because now I’ve seen the man you really are when you’re on them! There’s the man you play at when you’re home with us and then there’s the bloodthirsty monster!” 

Erlendur visibly flinches. “Monster?” he whispers. 

“Please don’t do this” He kneels down next to me. “Please don’t ask me to choose between two parts of myself”. 

“I’m asking you to choose between your raiding and your family. Admit it, you don’t want us!”

Shock and confusion color his face. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’d rather be raiding then with you or the children?” 

“Well, isn’t it? I’d lost a child, I was suffering, we nearly lost the children in the plague. And as soon as it was over you left again!” 

“Oh, you fool! You stupid, beautiful woman! I love you! I love our children! I would die for any of you, don’t you know that?” 

I stare at him in silence, my face blank. I don’t know what to say. 

“Do you love me?” Erlendur asks, his voice demanding, pleading. His eyes glisten with unshed tears. 

With only my words, I’ve driven this man onto his knees and made him weep. I don’t know how I feel anymore. I don’t know what I want out of life anymore. 

“I just want life to go to the way if was before” I whisper. Tears begin to run down my cheeks. 

“It can’t, Brynja” Erlendur says firmly. “I should know that better than anyone”. 

“And you didn’t answer my question: Do you love me?” 

I don’t know how to answer. I wish I did. I leap from seat and push past him and run out the door. I run without knowing where I’m going. The wind is building, and the sky is almost as black as my mood. Tears blur my vision. My hair comes loose from its bun and whips about my face. My sobs make my throat tighten and choke me but I press on. I find myself out by my father’s grave. Tears continue to run down my face. 

“I wish you were here, Papa. You’d know what to say”. 

What would he say? He’d probably encourage me to forgive Erlendur, to move on and let the past be in the past. He hated confrontation almost as much as I do. 

Years ago, Erlendur told me the truth of who he was and the things he’d done in his past. I’d felt so angry and confused over that revelation, but also because Erlendur had been so wrapped up in his own past, that he had felt he couldn’t love me. He managed to come to his senses and confess his feelings for me, despite his fears. And I had managed to forgive him, despite my anger. 

Forgiveness keeps a marriage going. That’s what my father had said to me. 

The wind shifts through the trees. It blows harder, pushing back towards the direction of the house. 

The memory comes back to me as if it were yesterday. I recall sitting in the corner of the hall, my father on the bench across from me. His voice rings in my ears. “Forgiveness keeps a marriage going. There are going to be so many times you’ll be angry with your spouse but harboring all that anger only makes it worse. If you want a successful marriage, you have to learn when to fight and when to forgive”. 

I swipe at my tears. I’ve been such a mess. And my marriage is breaking because of it. I’ve been so confused and depressed and every time I try to make sense of it, it only becomes more confusing. 

I can’t imagine my life without Erlendur. He is my husband, my friend, my protector, my children’s father. And I love him. In spite of everything, I love him. 

I can’t keep clinging to twisted thoughts and anger. If I want any peace, I have to let it go. 

“Thank you, Papa”. 

I find Erlendur just outside the stables. It looks like he’s planning to sleep in there. He looks at me with his face set in that blank, unreadable mask. 

There is a painful silence between us. 

My throat is suddenly dry. I swallow and force words out. “I remembered something my Father said to me once. He said…that if you want a successful marriage, you have to learn when to fight and when to forgive. And…I don’t want to fight anymore”. 

My throat tightens and my lip quivers. I can feel more tears coming on. 

“Are you sure?” Erlendur says softly, a slight sneer in his voice. “A few moments ago, you were ready to kick me out, to never see me again”. 

Tears begin to flow harder. A loud crack of thunder sounds over our heads, making me jump. With no other prelude, rain begins to pour down onto us. The rain mixes with the tears from my weeping. 

I finally mange to gain some control over myself. “He said that love is like going on a raid. That you have to sail through some rough seas to find any treasure. And I was caught in such a storm. I was so lost…so wrapped up in my own pain and confusion I let myself lose sight of things. I don’t want to fight with you. And I don’t want you to go. If…if I can learn to accept all the sides to you, even the darker parts, can you forgive me for being a stupid fool?” 

“Brynja” Erlendur sighs. “You’re not stupid. And you had gone through some terrible times and I…I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. I hurt you. I caused you pain. I never wanted to…” he chokes a bit on his own tears. “I don’t want to be a monster. I want to be good for you. And I’m trying. I let myself get caught up in being a Viking so much that I forgot to be a husband. Can you forgive me?” 

I nod. “Yes. I just want us to be…to be us again”. 

“So do I”. 

He steps forward and I let him embrace me; I don’t care that we’re both soaked. It feels so good, so calming to be in his arms again. I hadn’t realized just how starved I was for his touch. 

I tilt my head up to look into his eyes. “I love you”. 

“I love you, too”. 

He kisses me deeply, passionately. As if he would die if our lips parted. 

My husband runs his lips across my cheek and down my neck. “I love you” his whispers in between kisses. “I’ve always loved you. I’ve missed you. I need you”. 

I return the kisses with my own fervor. “Take me then, if you need me”. 

“You’re sure?” 

In answer, I take his hand and lead him back into the house.   
……………………………………………………………………  
I stretch my arms over my head with a small groan, then snuggle back down into the furs of our bed. I lay my head on Erlendur’s chest. He drapes one arm casually around me, letting his fingers weave through my unbound hair. 

We lay in silence for a while as the ecstasy of pleasure fades. I am comfortable and drowsy after repeated climaxes and am almost asleep when Erlendur voice rouses me. 

“I have something to tell you”. 

The comfortable feeling vanishes. A small knot forms in my stomach. 

“Harald has made me an offer. He wants to reward me for my aid to him by giving me an earldom”. 

The knot unravels. I had feared something much worse. “That’s wonderful” I respond. “But, I suppose with him there is a condition?” 

Erlendur nods. “I would have to swear oaths of loyalty to him. I’d be bound to him and his laws. I have been free for so long. I’ve had no oaths sworn to any man before besides my father”. 

“So, refuse him if you don’t want it”. It seems simple enough to me. 

“I did”. 

Silence hangs in the air. “You did?” 

Erlendur tilts my head so I am looking at him. “I seriously considered the offer. But then I thought about you, and our children. I remembered how unhappy you were. I didn’t think this would make you any happier. And no amount of power is worth losing your loved ones”. 

I lay in silence for a moment. “You gave up an earldom—power and wealth—just for us?” 

“I did. Do you think I’m a fool?” 

I shake my head. “No, I think I love you. You chose your family over something most men would kill for”. But then another thought comes to mind. “How did Harald take it?”   
“You saw how Harald was that first campaign. He is ruthless towards anyone who opposes him. He is a man not used to being told no”. 

“Well, perhaps someone should get him used to it. Not even a king can get his own way all the time”. 

I feel a small rumble in his chest as he chuckles. “I am not sure Harald is aware”. His voice takes on a more serious note. “I felt I could not refuse him. I didn’t want to take the risk of him directing any anger at me—at us, our family”. 

I sit up and look down at my husband. “Would he really turn on the family of a man who had aided him?” 

Erlendur tilts his head away, not meeting my gaze. “It happens all the time. Plenty of families are wiped out…” 

I lay back down on his chest and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry if I brought up a painful memory”. 

Erlendur shakes his head no. “I recalled your words from the campaign. Perhaps I was being a coward then. So, I stood up to him and told him no. Much to my surprise, he respected my decision. He’s offered us farmland in exchange. Several hundred acres”. 

I want to be sure I’ve heard correctly. “He’s offered us a farm? Our own land?” 

“Yes…and I accepted that. We can go back to living like we used to, before…everything”. 

“But what about our home here?” 

“We can stay here, if you like. The land is farther north, along the coast. We can have an overseer to manage that farm for most of the year”. 

I lean forward and kiss him. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me”. 

“I’m glad. Harald wants everyone to gather in Trondheim, where he’s set up his new court, by the next full moon. He wants to enact new laws for the land and plan the final campaign”. 

I settle back down into his arms. “What new laws?” 

“Everyone living under Harald’s rule will be required to pay tribute in goods and silver to the king. Each earl will get a third of all the goods and silver collected off his land. And each will be required to have sixty men—at least four landowners—in his service. The landed men are bound to supply their own twenty men”.   
I know only a little of how a king’s army is built. Every king or earl would have a group of household warriors, known as housecarls, who make up the hird- the bodyguard and core of the army. These were the only full-time warriors. In times of trouble, the chieftain could call on a levy of local landed men and freemen for defense. 

“So, each earl could gather up his own men and provide the king with,” I pause to count on my fingers, “one hundred and forty men. And how many earls are there?” 

Erlendur tilts his head. “Still alive? A handful under Harald’s command, perhaps a dozen. But he’ll overthrow the petty kings and hand their land out as earldoms until he has all of Norway”. 

“A dozen earls, and each with one hundred and forty men. That’s still less than seventeen hundred. Is that a decent size for a king’s army?”

Erlendur shrugs. “It depends on the king. There were several hundred warriors on the first campaign. Harald has his own personal men and the earl’s troops don’t include any lower ranked men that might be made to fight. I would put it closer to two thousand”. 

“The other kingdoms don’t stand much chance, do they?” 

“No. It won’t be very long. Harald is anxious to finish what he started. Only the kingdoms of Adger, Hordaland, and…and Rogaland are left”. 

We fall into silence and lay in each other’s arms for a while more. Erlendur finally breaks the comfortable stillness. 

“Harald expects to take Rogaland. When he comes, I won’t be able to oppose him. Not again. You understand?’

“Yes…I hope he doesn’t hurt anyone from the village, though”. 

Erlendur makes a funny noise in his throat. He is not as sympathetic as I am. And I cannot blame him, after those people exiled him from his home. 

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this story. Feedback is always appreciated.


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